


Diet Coke Stains

by batfamsitcom, lynsaneinthemembrane



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Myra Kaspbrak, Actor-Comedian Richie Tozier, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Cocaine, Derry (Stephen King), Drug Use, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Texting, Drunken Confessions, Eddie Kaspbrak Cheats on Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Bad Time, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak's Internalized Homophobia, Emotionally Repressed, Endgame Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Exhibitionism, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fix-It, Gay Disaster Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Graphic Description, Homophobia, Hotel Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Limo Driver Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, New York City, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Kink, Pennywise is His Own Warning (IT), Rape/Non-con Elements, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, Rimming, Sexting, Slurs, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, myra kasbrak is a real piece of shit, myra kaspbrak has a mommy kink, non con pup play, richie tozier's cocaine habit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 114,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batfamsitcom/pseuds/batfamsitcom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynsaneinthemembrane/pseuds/lynsaneinthemembrane
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak never meant to throw his soda at that jaywalker, it just kind of happened. Better his drink hit him than his car, right? And at least he'll never have to see him again.That is, until his new client walks into their meeting--drenched from head to toe in what could only be 32 ounces worth of Diet Coke.“So do you always throw beverages at your clients, or do I happen to be one of the lucky ones?”And thus began his relationship with the one and only Richie Tozier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 81
Kudos: 118





	1. Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Spill

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I did start a new reddie fic before finishing my other one, what's it to ya? -Lyns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was supposed to be just another day at work for Eddie Kaspbrak turns into something else entirely when he greets his new client with a face full of Diet Coke.

Eddie Kaspbrak considered himself a punctual person. Rarely was there ever a time when he ran late, and if there was, there had better be a damned good reason for it. But you could always count on Eddie Kaspbrak to be on time. Maybe it was his knack for planning every moment of his day, right down to the minute. Or maybe it was his near-debilitating anxiety that told him he was going to  _ actually _ die if he was ever late for one of his many, many appointments. Either way, his reputation for punctuality preceded him—and had most certainly paved the way for the inordinate amount of success he had found in the personal driving industry. 

Eddie took pride in being dependable and expeditious, knowing very well that his business and his clients depended on it. Competing with rideshare companies like Uber and Lyft was hard enough; but he was known for being able to offer what those apps couldn’t: promptness and punctuality. And on those rare, rare occasions that Eddie did happen to slip up— well, it wasn’t quite easy to keep his composure. 

“WHAT THE _ FUCK _ WAS THAT?” he yelled hoarsely to the car in front of him, liberally laying on his horn. “WHO THE  _ FUCK  _ GAVE  _ YOU  _ A LICENSE, DUMBASS!” 

The other driver merely raised his middle finger in response as he cut him off, the last straw on Eddie’s already god-awful day. His screams blended seamlessly with the cacophony of honking horns that was New York City rush hour. And of-fucking-course, the next light had to be  _ red. _ Already tense, he was forced to come to a full stop, eyes kept shifting back and forth from the digital clock on his dash to the blaring red light that was outright mocking him. Almost kinesthetically feeling his blood pressure rise, he took a deep breath in a poor attempt to regain composure. Finding it to be less than helpful, Eddie reached for his gas station Diet Coke instead; the few sips that followed were enough to calm him, even if just for a moment. 

After what seemed like the longest minutes of his life, the green light finally flashed. He stomped on the gas hard, lurching forward and almost spilling his drink before steadying it at the last second. 

With only a few minutes left to reach his destination, beads of sweat ran down the side of Eddie’s face and cascaded across his back, dampening his chauffer’s uniform. He was going to have to ask his doctor to up his anxiety meds—he couldn’t imagine making it through his day without a Xanax. Lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice the pedestrian walking right in front of his vehicle. 

Catching him in the corner of his eye, Eddie floored the breaks as quick as he could. The tires squealed to a stop, just barely missing the jay walker—who had barely noticed Eddie’s car coming, and stepped back to avoid being hit in the very last second.

“GET OUT OF THE DAMN ROAD ASSHOLE! WHO THE FUCK JAYWALKS AT RUSH HOUR,  DO THOSE FUCKING GLASSES _ WORK _ ??” Eddie, wailing on his horn, had finally had enough. If the universe was set on shitting on his day, then Eddie was ready to just lay into this random stranger. “I ALMOST _ HIT _ YOU JACKASS!!” 

The bespectacled stranger opened his mouth to retort, but Eddie never gave him the chance. Before he quite understood what he was doing, the still nearly full cup of Diet Coke was flying through his open window. It landed near perfectly on the stranger, exploding on impact and drenching the tall, dark-haired man. Eddie didn’t spare even a second to catch his reaction, engine revving as he jammed his foot against the gas pedal. Heart beating madly in his ribcage, Eddie fled the scene, still trying to wrap his head around the rage-induced assault he had committed. Had he  _ really  _ just thrown his soda at a stranger? 

“Oh-fucking-well,” he grumbled to himself, pulling into a nearby parking garage. “Serves him right for jaywalking. Better my Diet Coke than a goddamn car. Hope he learned a fucking lesson.”

A small yelp escaped his mouth as he realized how dangerously late he was now running, and all thoughts of the soda-drenched stranger deserted his mind. Sliding into the first parking spot available, Eddie scurried out of the SUV and practically ran to the building where the Very Important Meeting was being held. One revolving door and an elevator ride later, and Eddie was finally in the conference room that he should have been in nearly ten minutes earlier. A short man awaited him, texting urgently on his cellphone. 

“Oh, thank God you made it!” The man held out a hand. “The name’s Steve Covall, so good to finally meet you in person.” 

“Edward Kaspbrak, likewise.” He took the man’s hand in a firm handshake. “I do apologize for the tardiness.” The soda incident far from his mind, Eddie hoped he didn’t look as frazzled and disheveled as he felt. 

“Don’t worry about it Mr. Kasbrak, my client hasn’t even arrived yet, but he should be here any minute now. Feel free to have a seat. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s kept people waiting.” Steve added, shaking his head apologetically. 

Looking to the conference table beside them, Eddie sat down in one of the black swivel chairs, trying his best to straighten up his clothes as much as he could. This new client was represented by one of the most well known agencies in the city, and Eddie would be damned if he didn’t protect his good reputation amongst New York’s elite—his entire career depended on it.

“In the meantime, would you like anything to drink?” said the man as he walked towards the door. “I’d be happy to bring you something from the breakroom.” 

“Water would be fine, thank you.” 

As Mr. Covall left the room, Eddie heaved a sigh of relief, hunching over the table. The manager seemed nice enough, and wasn’t even mad at him for being late. He could only hope that the big deal celebrity he represented was as understanding—although, at this point he was much more late than Eddie had been. 

Running a hand through his hair in a desperate attempt to bring it back to some sort of presentability, Eddie took this time to wonder who he had been hired as a driver for. He wasn’t a big fan of television, and never really kept up with social media, so his knowledge of most current celebrities was a little rusty. 

“Thank you so much for waiting, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Mr. Covall walked back through the door, handing Eddie a cool bottle of water. “Mr. Tozier just got here, however he had to use the restroom. He shouldn’t be long.” 

That name.  _ Tozier _ .

He’s heard that name before, he couldn’t place where, or even  _ when _ . But a sense of familiarity came with the name, a familiarity Eddie for the life of him could not understand. And as quick as that feeling came, it went away. He’s probably overheard one of his employees say his name at some point, or maybe even heard it on TV—yeah, that would make a lot more sense. He waved the feeling away. 

It also occurred to him that maybe he should have looked at the emailed request more carefully. Here he was at a business meeting, and didn’t even know who he was going to be chauffeuring.  _ Fuck my mind has been scattered lately, get it together Eddie _ , he mentally berated himself for the oversight, hoping it didn’t come back to bite him. 

Unscrewing the cap to his water, Eddie was startled by the someone abruptly bursting into the room. 

_ “So _ sorry I’m late! I was running over here, and this asshole down the street chucked his Coke at me for no reason!”

Eddie’s jaw just about dropped as the tall, dark-haired jaywalker entered the room, shirt still freshly drenched from the Diet Coke shower that he had given the man mere minutes before, causing the material to cling to his chest. The man’s eyes locked with his, widening with what could only be recognition. 

“Oh, well would you look at that,” the man continued, barely missing a beat. “It was  _ you.  _ Huh, I guess these glasses  _ do  _ work. So do you always throw beverages at your clients, or do I happen to be one of the lucky ones?” 

“I—uh—well,” Eddie stammered, unable to form words with a tongue that suddenly felt bone dry. He jumped to his feet. “Mr. Tozier, please—if I would have—” 

“It’s Richie.” 

“Uh,  _ Richie, _ I’m so sorry—” 

“Save the apologies, shortstack. Steve, look, I’m not sure if I wanna be driven around by someone with so much road rage. Why can’t I just drive myself around town?” 

Eddie’s nostrils flared as he glared up at the man, surveying the hair plastered to his forehead with a mild disgust (ignoring the fact that he was the reason for Richie’s wet, Diet Coke-drenched hair). Mr. Covall—who had been observing the two with a look of pure shock and dismay—opened his mouth to respond, but found his voice being cut off by Eddie’s sharp retort: 

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe  _ I  _ don’t want to be driving around some jerk who thinks it’s okay to step in front of a moving vehicle.” 

Eddie was usually good at controlling his temper in the face of clients, especially such a high-profile one, but something about this guy just brought it out of him. He chastised himself, mentally preparing for the onslaught of business-ending profanities that was sure to come from his would-be client at any moment; celebrities didn’t usually take kindly to being spoken down to, in Eddie’s wealth of experience. He was—if anything—a man of his convictions, however, and it was too late to turn back at this point anyway. He had thrown a 32oz Diet Coke at the man, for chrissakes. If the ship was going down, Eddie may as well go down with it. 

And then Richie Tozier did the last thing Eddie ever expected him to do. 

He began to laugh. 

It started as a snide giggle at first, soon erupting into a full guffaw. Eddie’s pulse throbbed in his temple, eyes tightening into a glare. Mr. Covall continued to look back and forth between the two of them, looking very much like he just wanted to disappear into the floor. 

“What’s so funny, asshole?” Eddie spat, wanting nothing more than to wipe that stupid smile off of Richie’s stupid face. “I almost  _ killed _ you earlier.” 

He had managed to avoid running him over, but if this dickwad laughed in his face anymore, not even the presence of the nervous-looking manager would stop him from decking this hot shot right in the face.

“You—Your face! The l-l-look on your face!” The more Richie laughed, the redder Eddie’s face became, the more his jaw clenched in anger. Every wheeze that came from the man was another jab at Eddie’s already feral frame. “Fuck—that’s fucking priceless!” 

“Are you done, dickwad? Or are there other near death experiences you gotta work out?” 

Eddie was  _ this  _ close to storming out of this conference room, reputation and business be damned. He wasn’t about to admit how oxymoronic he felt, seeing this man—a man he almost killed and then immediately drenched in soda—made him almost blind with fury. So much so that Eddie had lost any form of professionalism that he had left. Yet, he also felt a strange pull towards him, a magnetism he couldn’t quite explain; later, he would chalk up that feeling as guilt for the aforementioned wrongs he had done to the man.

The furrowed brow, the tense jaw, the beginnings of red on the tips of the short man’s ears—was enough of an adorably intimidating sight for Richie to wipe the tears from his eyes and calm the giggles and chortles that still escaped his mouth. He may have just met Eddie, but he was sure that if he kept it up, this small man would not hesitate to punch him right in the jaw. He had already proven his confrontational nature by throwing a  _ whole soda _ at him, after all. 

“Hey Steve, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s keep him!”

Eddie did a double take to the man, shocked that Richie still wanted to hire him after everything he had said and done.

“What am I now, a dog?” Eddie grumbled, still glaring. He did  _ not  _ take too kindly to this guy’s declaration of ownership toward him.

“I have a feeling your bark is worse than your bite. And anyways, I like  _ cute  _ dogs, not snarly little chihuahuas.” 

It took every ounce of self restraint for Eddie not to hold back his retort at the idea of being called a chihuahua, highly aware at how lucky he was to still land this contract considering the amount of profanities he had thrown at Richie. 

“Besides,” Richie continued with a smile, “Steve took the time to set this up, might as well make the most of it.” 

It took a lot to catch Richie’s interest for more than two seconds, and this angry man had definitely captured his full attention. All Eddie could do was hold his tongue, and shake the man’s extended hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. uh…” Richie’s voice trailed off questioningly, not relinquishing the firm grip on Eddie’s hand. 

“Kaspbrak, Edward Kaspbrak,” Eddie answered stiffly, hyper aware of the warmth of the taller man’s skin against his own. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak! Hey, that name’s kind of familiar. Have we met before?” 

Richie finally released his hand, as Eddie shook his head as he looked up at him.  _ I’d definitely remember meeting you, _ he thought to himself, the flush returning to the tips of his ears for entirely different reasons. 

“Well, either way, I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” The sarcasm was not lost on Eddie’s ears, but there was also a humor there that couldn’t be missed. “So how about we get it started with you giving me a ride home; I somehow forgot to bring a change of clothes to work today, silly me.” 

Eddie’s lips pressed into what he hoped was a semblance of a grin, trying very hard not to grind his teeth. Steve offered a nervous laugh, muttering something about rescheduling their next few meetings. He hurried away into the depths of the building, leaving Richie to follow Eddie to the parking garage. The taller man talked endlessly during the short walk, rattling on and on about some animated movie role he was trying to land. 

“...so I would be playing, like, the personification of fear or something. Sounds like a pretty easy gig, I was bullied pretty hard when I was a kid, so I have  _ a lot  _ to go off of.” 

“Who wasn’t?” The words were accompanied by a derisive snort. Eddie didn’t quite know what was wrong with his mouth that day; it seemed to be moving a lot without his permission. 

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. Maybe I’ll do a PSA about bullying or something. It’ll go ‘don’t be a bully, or I’ll get my chauffeur to come to your place a kick your fucking teeth in.’” 

Another snort from Eddie, less cheeky and little closer to an actual laugh. They were in the parking garage now, just a few rows away from the car. He dug the keys out of his pocket, and the lights flashed as he thumbed the button to unlock it. 

“This is us.” 

Richie let out a low whistle. 

“Sweet ride, man.” 

He immediately reached for the passenger door, opening it and sliding in before Eddie could react. He was used to his clients sitting in the back, and most didn’t bother opening the door for themselves. Bewildered, he walked around and settled into the driver’s seat. He was so thrown off by Richie’s choice to sit in the up front, he didn’t quite know what to do. He knew that he was supposed to be starting the car, and probably should ask his new client where he lived; he found himself unable to do little more than stare at the steering wheel, not really seeing. 

“Uh, you alright there Eds?” Richie’s voice cut through the fog. 

_ “Don’t _ call me that,” he said sharply. 

“Oh, uh, I mean—you alright there,  _ Edward Kaspbrak?”  _

It took everything in Eddie’s willpower to not roll his eyes. 

“Most people sit in the back,” he said, a little more coldly than he would have liked to sound.  _ Why do I keep doing that? _

“Why would I go back there when the fun’s up here? I can’t see your snarls of disgust from the back seat.” Richie’s shit eating grin returned with a vengeance. 

Knowing he would just be fueled by his reaction, Eddie didn’t bother responding, instead steering his focus on inserting the key into the ignition—which proved to be a more difficult task than usual. Completely thrown off of his usual rhythm, many agonizing seconds went by as Eddie fiddled with the keys, trying so hard to find the slot.

“Need a little help?”

“I got it!” Eddie snapped, eventually jamming the key in and starting the car. He pulled out of the parking garage with a huff, pulling into a street that was considerably calmer than when he had arrived. “Where’s your place?”

“Just keep going straight until I tell you.” 

Richie used Eddie’s attention on the road to reach towards the radio, clicking it on and flipping through all the stations. 

“What are you doing—don’t touch anything!” 

“I’m just turning on some tunes, relax.” 

Richie landed on a station playing a song Eddie couldn’t recognize, but the bassline quickly began to give him a headache. Luckily the song didn’t play for long as he switched to another station. As soft jazz filled the limo, and Eddie’s shoulders relaxed slightly. But not even that lasted long when Richie flipped to yet another station, a mind-numbing guitar riff blaring from the speakers. 

“Will you stick to a station and stay there? Goddamn, it’s like I’m babysitting a 9-year-old.”

Eddie’s head had officially had enough, and he switched the radio back to the soft jazz. Richie raised his hands in defense.

“Alright, alright, driver chooses music, passenger shuts his cakehole. I got it.” 

A tense silence loomed over the two as the radio gently played in the background. Eddie did his best to mind the road, trying to maintain a facade of calmness while Richie snooped about, opening the glove compartment, digging in the side door pockets.

“Am I on the right lane or do I have to switch over?” Eddie glanced over at Richie, who had finally settled on entertaining himself with his phone.

“You’re good, man, we still got a bit. I’ll tell you when.”

“But is this the right lane? I’d rather be on the correct lane now, than have to worry about it later.” Eddie’s grip on the wheel tightened in irritation.

“Dude, you got a while, we’re fine right now. “ 

Richie let out a snort, amused at how the smallest things could annoy his new driver. This was the best decision Steve had ever made; he made a mental note to give him a hearty raise.

“Which. Lane.” Eddie forced through gritted teeth.

“This is the right lane, we’re taking a left in a bit.” 

Eddie looked very much like he wanted to hit him, and Richie figured he’d had his fun; it was time to lay off. 

“Was that so hard?” 

“Yes, actually, almost as hard as I’m sure it was for you to throw that Coke at me this morning.” There was laughter in Richie’s voice, but Eddie could hear a slight edge. 

“I said I was sorry, alright? Can you drop it already?” One of Eddie’s hands left the steering wheel, chopping through the air to punctuate every other word. 

“Whatever you say, Eds.” Richie rolled his eyes, glancing up from his phone to survey the passing streets. “Oh shit, I think we missed our turn. Uh, just take the next left I guess.” 

_ You gotta be fucking kidding me.  _ Eddie bit back his outburst, finally being able to control his traitorous mouth. 

Stony-faced, he turned on the first available street, following the now-alert Richie’s instructions. What should have been a relatively short ride felt like an eternity, but they eventually arrived at their destination: a tall condominium building, complete with a rather severe-looking doorman. Eddie pulled in front, parallel parking quickly and neatly. 

“Finally!” Richie blurted, unlocking his seat belt. “You wanna come up?” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie responded stiffly. “I’ll wait in here.” 

“You sure? I’m probably gonna have to shower. You know, cause I’m pretty, uh, sticky.” Richie laughed again, a nervous chuckle this time. Eddie didn’t notice the small flush that creeped across his client’s face. 

“I”ll be fine,” he repeated, swallowing thickly. 

“Alright, suit yourself. Be back in a bit.” 

And with that, he closed the door, hurrying toward the building. Eddie allowed himself a quick glance at Richie as he waved to the doorman, who nodded in response. His eyes landed squarely on his ass, watching until it disappeared through the door. Eyelids snapping shut, Eddie’s body slouched into the driver’s seat while his hands raised to massage his temples. He had been with Richie Tozier for less than an hour and he was already beyond exhausted. Richie was loud, crass, annoying, and worst of all: exactly Eddie’s type—tall, effortlessly handsome, not to mention those  _ hands.  _ His mind flashed to their earlier handshake, how that hand had enveloped his own with its warmth. He couldn’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like in... _ other _ places. 

Almost as if on cue, his phone began to blare the sickeningly sweet ringtone his wife had given herself. Eddie’s eyes shot open, glaring down at the screen.Yup, it was Myra alright. His chest rose and fell heavily in a deep sigh. 

“Hello Myra,” he answered in a dull voice. 

“Hello my Eddie-bear!” her shrill voice grated against his ears. “Don’t forget to stop by the pharmacy on the way home to pick up your allergy prescription! You  _ know  _ how bad your allergies get around this time of the year.” 

“Yes, honey.” 

“And do try to get home early, there’s supposed to be a lightning storm tonight, and you  _ know  _ how those roads get when it’s wet out!” 

“Yes, honey.”  _ As if I don’t drive for a living. As if my schedule can’t change at my client’s slightest whim.  _

“Promise me you’ll drive safe and make it home in one piece!” Myra actually sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and Eddie wouldn’t put it past her to actually start crying. 

“I promise, Myra, I’ll be fine,” he tried to sound sincere, but ended up sounding more sarcastic. He continued before she could respond, “I’m with a very important client right now, I can’t talk.” 

“Fine.” He could practically hear her pouting through the phone. “I love you, my Eddie-bear. Don’t keep me waiting too long!” 

“Love you too,” he said faintly, with no real conviction. He hung up with another defeated sigh.

He knew that this marriage wasn’t healthy; he shouldn’t feel  _ this  _ mentally drained from a 2 minute phone call from his wife. A part of him honestly did not know why he hadn’t left yet. He considered how much Myra reminded him of his mother—and wasn’t that what all men were striving for? A woman like their mothers? At least that’s what all the outdated psychology books he had flipped through in college said. 

But if that was the case, then why did he dread the evening so much—the time of day when he had to drive back home, back into the house he bought with Myra, back into her suffocating arms, with not so much as a second to breathe before she began with fussing over him. Just like his mother. Maybe it was the comfort of familiarity that kept him shackled, who knew. Eddie certainly did not. And at this point, he was too drained to dwell on it for much longer.

Pulling up a solitaire app on his phone, Eddie just wanted something to keep his mind off of everything. He didn’t want to think of Myra and her crying face, and he definitely didn’t want to think of the man he just dropped off, who was most certainly still washing up. Nope. He was not going to think about Richie showering. Eddie was  _ not _ going to think about those hands, lathering soap all over that chest.  _ Nope. _ Absolutely the fuck not.

Roughly fifteen minutes passed, and Eddie was just about to take his win and start that oh-so-satisfying cascade of cards down his phone screen, when there was a loud knock on the passenger window. He shook so violently that his phone dropped from his hands and down near his feet. Quick reflexes kicked in, and he immediately reached for his phone, hitting his head on the steering wheel. The horn went off, startling him even more as he let out a yelp. 

Scrabbling to grab his phone, Eddie finally looked over to see who snuck up on him: to no one’s surprise, it was Richie, his shoulders shaking in laughter as he doubled over with laughter.  _ This absolute clown. _

Rolling his window down, Eddie was ready to give Richie a piece of his mind, when Richie rose up, face still cracked into a wide smile from his jovial laughter. All Eddie could do was stare at the man, damp hair curling over his glasses while slight moisture collected in the corners of his eyes from the intensity of his amusement. It was borderline  _ not fair _ how attractive Richie was, further irritating Eddie. 

“Oh, laugh it up. That wasn’t even funny!”

Richie’s laugh turned down to snickers.

“Au contraire, mon Edward,” he retorted with a shockingly great French accent. “It was fucking  _ hilarious.” _ Giggles continued to escape Richie as he tried hard to suppress them, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Just get in the damn car, asshat.” 

Eddie checked his phone for any possible scratches, worried about damage on it. He wondered what Myra’s immediate reaction would be to him getting into a fist fight.

Richie took his time, even purposely walking the long way around the car. He wasn’t usually this chaotic, but something about his driver’s pouty face made him want to see it over and over again—and a part of him wanted to see how much of his bullshit that Eddie was willing to put up with. Taking his seat on the passenger’s side, Richie ran a quick hand through his hair, bringing it out of his face. The first thing he did was turn the radio to a different station, an old 90’s grunge band playing through the speaker.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he said brightly, miming an air guitar. “Man, I miss Kurt.” 

Eddie put the car into drive, heading back to the office. He drove rigidly down the road, a direct contrast to Richie as he jammed out to the heavy, chugging guitar blaring from the radio. 

“Geez, would you loosen up, man?” Richie eventually remarked after the song finished, turning down the radio as it went to commercial break. “I’ve forgiven you for the Coke thing, by the way.” 

Eddie could tell his client wanted a response, so instead he stared silently at the road ahead of him.

“Actually,” Richie continued when he said nothing, “I’m kind of glad you did it. At least now I know you’ve got some character. The last guy that drove for me was a total snooze. I think he had a crush on me.” Eddie somehow stiffened even further, sitting up so straight his back didn’t touch the seat. “That’s cool, I don’t blame him.” Richie threw him a wink. “But I just don’t swing that way. I mean, I’m basically drowning in pussy.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared.  _ Why the fuck is he telling me this?  _

“Anyway, he was lousy—unreliable as hell, made me look bad for being late all the time. From what I’ve heard, you’re the best in the business for guys like me.” 

Eddie forced a muttered thanks, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to reach the office building and be rid of this annoying man. This  _ handsome _ , annoying man. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Richie had turned the radio up again, drumming his fingers along to another rock song, chattering on and on about his rare record collection. Eddie could feel the beginnings of a migraine pounding on the right side of his head. He tried to drown him out, tried to focus only on driving, but was unable to block out his incessant prattling.  _ Did I really sign an exclusive contract with this jerk for six whole months? _

Not soon enough, Eddie pulled back into the parking garage, holding back a sigh of relief. Richie turned to him with his own contented exhale.

“Well, thanks for the ride, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Whatever you say, Edward.” 

“Eddie—just call me Eddie.” 

Richie’s face broke into a wide smile. “Fine. Thanks for the ride, Eddie. I’m gonna be playing catch up with meetings all day, I’ll call you when I’m getting ready to leave, probably around eight or nine tonight. Does that sound alright?” 

“Of course,” Eddie responded with a nod, trying to salvage at least a little professionalism to make up for his cold demeanor. 

“You really  _ do  _ gotta loosen up, though, man.” Richie dug into his pocket, withdrawing a small item Eddie couldn’t quite make out. “I think you need this a little more than I do today.” He thrust it into his unsuspecting hand, then practically jumped out the car. He cried out—”Catch ya on the flippity-flip!”—before shutting the door and scampering away.

Eddie glanced down to the little cylindrical thing that Richie had given him, recognizing it immediately as a hand-rolled joint. Heart racing, he tossed it into his glove box and shut it quickly, unsure of what else to do. 

“What in the actual  _ fuck _ even happened today?” he moaned to himself, slumping into his seat. To say he was exhausted would have been a gross understatement. Not only had he thrown his Diet Coke at a total stranger during a moment of road rage, said stranger was now his oddly charming yet very annoying new client—whom Eddie was to exclusively drive around for the next six months. And to top it all off, he now was carrying illegal drugs in his vehicle. Eddie needed a nap. Or maybe a drink. Definitely a Xanax or two. 

Eddie’s mind drifted to Myra, waiting for him at home. He was definitely going to be getting in later than expected tonight, and he would never hear the end of it. He thought about Richie again, how his Diet Coke-drenched shirt had clung to his chest, the feeling of his warm hand firmly grasping his own, the smell of his body wash after he had returned from his shower—

Eddie shook his head, as if trying to shake those thoughts themselves away. It didn’t work. 

This was going to be a long six months. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did start a new reddie fic before finishing my other one, what's it to ya? -Lyns


	2. Richie Tozier Cries over Spilled Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie's working relationship blossoms, then wilts.

For the most part, Richie Tozier couldn’t really complain about how he ended up. He got to travel, work on some pretty fun projects, and he never had to worry about looking at prices on a menu. He rarely had to worry about landing the next job; hell, all he really had to do was show up, Steve arranged everything else. 

That was the beauty of a good manager: Steve told him where to be and at what time, and for the most part, things worked out just fine. Richie was good at his job—be it a voice acting role, a meet and greet, or even the ghost-written material for his stand-up routines. The gigs were endless and plentiful, and all meticulously arranged, thanks to Steve. 

Steve had really outdone himself when he hired Eddie. Leave it to him to find the most unorthodox, yet most entertaining chauffeur in New York City. _And it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes,_ Richie thought to himself as he glanced over to his new driver. With strong, dark brows over deep set eyes, the whisper of stubble across his prominent chin. _Very_ easy on the eyes. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. Oh no, those thoughts were reserved solely for himself. It wasn’t like he was _in love_ with the guy or anything. Sometimes a hot dude is a hot dude, and that was just facts. 

“So I know I have to be in a meeting soon, but can we _please_ stop by an Arby’s? You didn’t even give me a chance to grab a bagel!”

“You should have thought about that before you slept in,” Eddie replied, his face deadpan. “Besides, I’m sure Mr. Covall has something you can snack on once we get there.”

“Steve? All he has in his office are Nutrigrain bars and unseasoned rice crackers, do you want me to starve?” Richie slumped dramatically in his seat. He just wanted some curly fries drenched in Arby’s sauce, and a chocolate milkshake. Was that too much to ask?

“We’re already running behind as it is,” the smaller man replied sternly, dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If you had been ready at 10 o’clock like you were supposed to be, we might be having a different conversation.”

Richie crumpled pitifully, throwing Eddie the most petulant pout he could muster. Either he didn’t see it, or just straight up did not care—the chauffeur did not acknowledge what Richie considered to be one of his best pouts to date. He had almost given up on his Arby’s dreams, accepting his hungry fate, when an idea formed within the crevices of his mind. He was _going_ to get those curly fries one way or another. 

He quickly pulled up Steve’s contact on his phone and shot him a quick text message. A couple of moments passed before he got the exact response he was hoping for; a wide smile spread across his face. Steve was _definitely_ getting that raise soon. 

“Well, looks like I’m not needed in that meeting after all,” he announced triumphantly. “Away to Arby’s we go!” 

Richie really wished he could have framed the look on Eddie’s face: nostrils flared, brows furrowed, teeth obviously clenched behind lips that were pressed into a thin line. That look on anyone else would have been fairly intimidating—and to be fair, Richie _was_ intimidated, to an extent. But mostly he was having the _time of his life._ He wasn’t entirely sure what made it so fun to poke and prod at this man; he was clearly ready to blow his fuse at any given moment. Maybe it was how serious Eddie took him, when most other people in his life treated everything like the joke he made it. Or maybe it was the way he was just so 

_(cute)_

easy to get a rise out of. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Eddie muttered under his breath, but Richie knew that he was meant to hear it. 

“I’m afraid this is no joke,” Richie said in a deep, grave voice. “I’m in desperate need of a Reuben and some curly fries, otherwise I may very well waste away into nothingness.” 

“A Rueben? From Arby’s?” The disgust was thick in Eddie’s voice. “No, not happening. That’s _blasphemy.”_

“What? I _like_ their Ruebens—”

 _“Stop_ calling it that. That’s _not_ a Reuben.”

“Rye, beef, swiss, sauerkraut, and sauce. It’s a Reuben!” There aren’t many hills Richie would die on, but how dare this shortstack diss the artistry of an Arby’s Reuben?

“Just go to Katz’s down the road! Why the fuck would you _waste_ your money on that horseshit?” Eddie pointed down the street, where the telltale red and white sign reading ‘KATZ’S’ flashed.

“Alright, alright—I get it. I forgot how touchy New Yorkers are about their Reubens.” Richie held his hands up in surrender. If there was one thing he knew not to tread on, it was a New Yorker and their food.

“Not from New York,” Eddie retorted. “You don’t have to live here or be a genius to know where _good_ food is.” That took Richie a little by surprise. With Eddie’s short fuse and penchant for road rage, he sure had _him_ fooled. 

“You sure? You got the sneer down pat, and I swear I can hear Dustin Hoffman screaming ‘I’M WALKIN’ ‘ERE’ every time you yell at me.” If there’s one thing Richie knew he was good at, it was impressions. And he couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory when he caught Eddie crack a smile at his Hoffman bit. _Score one for Trashmouth._ “Well if you’re not from New York, where _are_ you from?”

“Maine, actually. I left as soon as I could though, to go to college,” Eddie stated, matter-of-factly, his face blank for a few moments.

“Fuck, really? Fucking _yikes_ dude.”

Richie usually hated thinking about home. Considering it had been just over 20 years since he had moved out, memories of his hometown were pretty foggy. Hell, he could barely even remember any childhood friends, if he’d had any. He was more than sure they would have come out of the woodwork by now, bragging to the press about how they knew Trashmouth Tozier as a snot-nosed kid. 

“I’m from Maine too, so I feel your pain.” He sucked a breath through his teeth, clapping Eddie’s shoulder. 

“You?” Eddie scoffed with a snide smirk. “I would have figured _you_ were from some big city, one big enough for your ego at least.”

“Oh, Eddie, you wound me! I’m not _that_ full of myself!” Richie draped himself over the armrest and onto Eddie’s shoulder, the epitome of drama. He’d accept his Emmy happily from some other bitter celebrity who didn’t get a nomination. “Ok, maybe a little. But I swear, deep, deep, _deeeeeep_ down, I’m still that small town boy with big town dreams!” 

“Get off me, I’m _driving_! Unless you’d rather eat the garbage food at the hospital instead!” 

Slightly red in the face, Eddie squirmed in Richie’s hold; he was _clearly_ not used to this amount of human contact. Richie snickered, pulling back into his own seat. 

“Okay, but what are the _odds_ that we’re both from Maine? Like, there has to be some real cosmic forces at work bringing us together.” 

Eddie’s eyes rolled upwards in his exasperation as he stopped at a red light. 

“It’s not that weird, Maine’s only a few hours from here,” he said shortly, as if the very notion of some universal forces putting him in Richie’s vicinity was the most offensive idea he had ever heard. “And New York isn’t as big a city as people make it out to be. Now are we getting Arby’s or not?”

Richie’s face cracked into a wild smile of success. 

“I knew I’d wear you down eventually, Eds.” 

_“Stop_ calling me that.”

“Sure thing, Edward.”

And there was that face again—the face that clearly said if Richie didn’t back up soon, there was going to be trouble. Exactly what kind of trouble, he had no idea, but at this point Richie wasn’t sure if he was ready to find out. 

His mind began to wander as Eddie maneuvered through the city with the expertise of a man who knew the streets better than he knew himself. Try as he may, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at his driver, whose face was still scrunched in annoyance—although this time, it was aimed towards the notoriously bad New York City motorists (who, according to Eddie, must have never taken a day of driver’s lessons in their miserable lives). There was just _something_ about that face that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something that was driving him crazy, something that made him want to reach over and pinch those stubbly cheeks, all the while proclaiming about how 

_(cute, cute, CUTE)_

Eddie was. But of course, he’d never do that. Not only because he was _certain_ that Eddie absolutely would not hesitate to deck him square in the face—but because one just simply does not _do_ things like that, especially to another man, _especially_ a completely heterosexual man, just like himself. 

At that absurdly incorrect thought, he actually laughed out loud. 

“What’s so funny?” Eddie immediately snapped. “You think that asshole cutting me off was some kind of joke?” 

“What? Oh, no—man, that had nothing to do with you,” Richie lied. “I was just, uh, thinking of some jokes for my next stand-up routine.” 

_(yeah right you haven’t written your own material in years trashmouth)_

Eddie didn’t really respond, but rather gave a loud huff as they finally pulled up in front of an Arby’s. 

“Oh, fuck yeah! I’m so damn hungry,” Richie practically yelled, hurrying to unbuckle his seat belt, stomach rumbling loudly as if to prove his point. 

He was already halfway out of the car when he realized that Eddie had made no movement to leave the vehicle. He turned, face pulling back down into a pout. 

“What, you’re just gonna stay here? Lame.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Eddie replied in a flat voice, already looking down at his phone; Richie could see the familiar card layout of solitaire on the bright screen. 

“Seriously? C’mon, it’s my treat,” Richie was nearly begging at this point, not quite sure why he was so desperate for this angry man to accompany him into Arby’s. 

_“Not hungry,”_ Eddie repeated, eyes not leaving his phone. “My wife made me breakfast.” 

“Fine, but don’t even _think_ about mooching off my curly fries.” 

And with that, Richie finally departed the car, darting to take his place in the surprisingly long line. Even there, left to his own devices, Richie couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie was doing while he waited in the car. _Probably playing solitaire, what a nerd. Or maybe_

_(he’s talking to his wife about how much he hates you)_

Richie stiffened at the intrusive thought, trying to shake it. Sure, Eddie had a bit of a temper, but that didn’t mean he _hated_ him—did it? No, Eddie yelled at everything that annoyed him, even his phone when it didn’t “work right” (Eddie’s words). Sure, maybe Richie took the teasing a little too far, but he always knew when to reel it in. And Eddie hadn’t punched him yet, so he must be doing _something_ right. He relaxed a little, but there was still that whisper of unease as he placed his order, and it didn’t really dissipate as he made his way back to the car. 

“You alright?” Eddie asked as he slid into the passenger seat, to-go bag in hand. 

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. Why do you ask?” The anxiety must have shown on Richie’s face.

“I don’t know, you look like you’re gonna throw up.” Eddie’s brows furrowed. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? Because you need to tell me if you are. I can’t risk catching anything.” 

“Oh yeah, I have actually fallen terribly ill, I think I’m terminal.” Richie couldn’t help but hide his insecurities the only way he knew how: by being the wise-cracking, cheeky bastard that he was. “Have you heard of the bird flu? They say it’s un-tweet-able” 

Richie snickered at his joke, taking a sip of his milkshake as Eddie groaned at the legitimately worst pun in existence. 

“Actually, I think you should walk the rest of the way to work.” Richie let out a bark of laughter so loud, Eddie actually flinched a little. “Ugh. At least your greasy food isn’t as bad as that pun.”

“I take offense to that. I guess some people just don’t understand the complexities that comes with the combination of Arby’s-sauced-curly-fries dipped in a milkshake.”

“You open that milkshake lid in this car, and you will actually be walking.” Eddie couldn’t help but grimace at the actual heart attack in Richie’s hands.

“Fine, fine, fine. Then make haste, Eduardo! To Steve’s office we go! Before it melts!” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at Richie’s typical antics. After just a week of being his driver, he’d already come to expect nothing but dramatics from the loud-mouthed comedian. Richie still couldn’t tell if his exasperation was a form of endearment or just straight up annoyance. 

“When will you learn my actual name?”

Richie looked over, mouth stuffed with curly fries. 

“Actually, please don’t answer that, I don’t want to see you chewing your food.”

The ride back to the office was filled with the usual back and forth bickering. Eddie continuously warning Richie not to spill food in the car, while all Richie could do was laugh at how 

_(CUTE)_

hilarious Eddie’s irritated expression was. The more Eddie seemed to warm up to Richie, the less Richie’s inner thoughts reared their ugly head. Richie felt the mask he had spent _years_ building up, crumble little by little. He had never had someone in his life like Eddie, someone who refused to be a yes man, someone who could keep up with his quick wits with a retort of his own. He didn’t know how long this would last. _Good things never last long,_ he thought bitterly. But he was having fun, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. He relished in the fact that Eddie kept him on his toes, bringing back something in him that felt like it was locked away for a long time, like some distant memory. 

Sipping his milkshake, Richie considered all of the times he’d had that weird, déjà vu feeling since Eddie had started driving for him. The snide remarks, the way he tried to hide his laughter when Richie managed to land a good joke. The only way he could describe it was reuniting with an old friend. He’s only known Eddie for about a week, but already their back and forth was as fluid and effortless as that of lifelong pals. 

Richie didn’t want to read too far into it, but that feeling never left him. He thought back to his comment of cosmic forces bringing them together. Like all jokes, there was a kernel of truth there that he couldn’t quite explain. His new driver had brought a spark into his life that started the moment that drink drenched him in the street, and Richie found himself fascinated with every aspect of this man.

So lost in thought, Richie did not notice as his grip slackened on the drink in his hand. As he stared through the windshield with unfocused eyes, he also did not see the car that zoomed in front of them at the last moment, causing Eddie to slam on the breaks. 

“DON’T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC, DICKHEAD!” 

He succeeded in stopping just in time, merely inches away from rear-ending the errant vehicle. Richie, however, was reminded harshly of the first law of physics as his cup launched out of his hand. It sailed gracefully through the air, and the two of them watched helplessly as it landed squarely in the center of the dashboard; thick droplets of milkshake splattered across _everything_ —the steering wheel, the center console, some reaching so far as Eddie’s thick hair _._

Richie knew this was _bad,_ as his normally explosive driver had gone completely silent, staring daggers at the road ahead. 

“Oh fuck, Eddie—shit, I’m _so_ sorry—” Richie began to apologize in a low voice. 

“Save. It,” Eddie forced through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll pay for the detailing—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Eddie—”

“Oh my fucking god, Richie, I swear if you don’t shut the _fuck_ up—” Eddie took a deep breath. “I mean—Jesus, fuck—just, stop. Stop.” 

And with that, Richie fell silent, staring down at his milkshake splattered shoes. 

_(good going trashmouth you really screwed up this time)_

The rest of the drive was the longest few minutes of Richie’s life, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. All of those ugly little voices were back, jeering and cackling at him. He wanted nothing more than to crack a joke, maybe something about how they were even now; Eddie threw a drink on him, Richie spilled a milkshake in his car. Nice and square. He just wanted to make Eddie laugh, to forget this whole terrible thing had even happened. Or maybe he should just go back in time and stop himself from ever getting Arby’s in the first place. 

_(or maybe you should have just offed yourself when you had the chance you stupid little faggot)_

That voice was particularly vicious, one he thought he had shaken years ago, when he had left the bum-fuck town he had grown up in. Yet there it was, laughing gleefully at his misfortunes with the rest of his insecurities. 

_(eddie’s never going to like you back now and how could he have ever like you all you are is a stupid fucking)_

“We’re here.”  
  
Eddie’s sharp, angry tone cut interrupted that harsh voice, snapping Richie back to reality. 

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly. “Eddie, please just let me—” 

“Go.” Eddie’s voice was cold. He did not look at Richie. 

Richie sighed heavily, defeatedly exiting the car. Eddie’s tires squealed as he peeled away; he watched as the car departed, the sinking feeling of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Sure, he and Eddie had gotten off to a bad start, but he was beginning to feel like things were getting better between the two of them—and now he had probably put them right back at square one. Hell, probably square zero if RIchie was being completely honest with himself. He had never seen the man look so entirely pissed off before, not even when Eddie had thrown that soda at him. 

“Hey, Richie! Are you okay?” The concerned voice of his manager snapped him out of his miserable daze. He was in the doorway of the office building they were working in, brows drawn in worry. “What's all over your shirt?” 

“What?” Richie blinked down at him. “Oh—uh, no. I’m not. I really fucked up.” 

“What happened?” 

“I _may_ have spilled milkshake in the car.” 

“Oh shit, a lot?” 

_“A lot._ Eddie was pissed. Sped off before I could give him any money for the detailing. I thought he was gonna punch me right in the mouth, dude. _”_

Steve pressed his lips together in a thin line, brows somehow pulling even closer together.

“What is _with_ that guy, the unprofessionalism is just really becoming too much. First the soda thing, now this? I mean, it’s just a milkshake. He’s a personal driver for chrissakes, I’m sure he’s seen much worse.” He shook his head in annoyance. “I gotta double check our contract, but I’m pretty sure we have a clause to get out of it. I’ll look over it tonight and start looking for a new driver.” 

“ _NO_!” 

Richie didn’t mean to yell as loudly as he did. It even shocked himself with how forceful it was. “I-I-I mean, you don’t have to do that. I’ve been pressing his buttons all day, he was bound to snap. And he did warn me about spilling food. If anything, _I’ve_ been the asshole.” The amount of times Richie stuck his neck out for someone like this, he could count on one hand. But he could not even fathom the thought of firing Eddie as his driver. 

( _haven’t you done enough to ruin eddie’s day good fucking going now he’s going to lose this job because of you you’re useless you’re useless you’re use)_

“I don’t get why you’re defending him. From what you’ve told me, all he does is berates you every day. And you still want him as your driver? It’s not like it’ll be hard to find someone else—”

“I said _no.”_ Richie’s voice was firm, adamant, and Steve knew that was the end of that conversation.

“Ok, ok. I’ll stay out of it. But promise me you’ll tell me if he goes too far.” Steve took a step closer to Richie, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t want you going back to _that_ place. I can tell when shit’s getting to you.” 

Slightly shaking his head, forcefully willing that voice to disappear back into the background.

( _I’m always here faggot boy)_

Richie plastered as much of his signature Trashmouth mask as he could muster. 

“I’m fine, Steve. Eddie just needs to let off some steam, that’s all.” 

“Well, ok. If you’re sure.” Steve took one last hard look at Richie, trying to see if he could pick out the cracks in Richie that threatened to grow. “You were always one hell of a masochist, huh?” 

“Is that a jab, or you saying that from experience?” Richie threw a smirk, desperately attempting to dissolve the heavy energy from the conversation.

“Another word like that, and you can forget about the cookies waiting for you in the breakroom.” 

Those words brought back the twinkle missing in Richie as he followed Steve into the building. 

“Cookies?? Please tell me Martha from the front desk made them, and not you? I don’t want to be poisoned again.” The comedian snickered.

“That was one time! And yes, how many other receptionists named Martha who bakes your favorites do you know?”

Richie beelined to the receptionist’s desk. The woman at said desk, a motherly-looking Hispanic lady in her early 60’s, looked up just as Richie clasped her tiny hand in his. 

“Martha, love of my life! I hear you have a present for me!” Richie did not know a woman as genuine and maternal as Martha. She had been working for the agency longer than he’d had a contract with them, and Richie had come to see her as his sort of work mom. 

“Afternoon Richie, the cookies are in the breakroom! Don’t take all of them, you need to learn to share.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Richie planted a quick kiss to Martha’s hand, and powerwalked to the breakroom, knowing Steve would give him shit for running in the lobby.

The tantalizing cookies sat in the center table, just _waiting_ to be eaten. They called to him, sweeter than that asshole voice in his head, promising delicious distraction from those terrible thoughts. Richie grabbed two of them, immediately shoveling a whole one directly into his mouth. Martha, that beautiful, perfect, woman had done it again. The perfect cookie: sweet but not tooth-achingly so, a slight crisp on the outside but nice and chewy on the inside. And what was better than a surprise chocolate center? _Absolutely nothing, that’s what!_ Richie was in cookie heaven, and for one golden moment he actually did forget about the milkshake mishap. 

Taking a seat, he happily ate his second cookie, taking smaller bites this time to really savor it. Richie was feeling better already. That was the thing about a good cookie—you just can’t be mad while eating one, and he could _always_ count on Martha’s cookies to cheer him up, no matter how down he was. 

It was then that another golden idea struck Richie. _No one_ could be mad while eating one of Martha’s amazing cookies, not even his uptight little driver. He was going to apologize to Eddie and get back on his good side if it was the last thing he did, even if it meant stealing all of Martha’s cookies in the process. 

Richie grabbed the Tupperware container, shoving the lid on and stashing it under his milkshake stained shirt. He scurried down the hall to his office, silently praying that no one would catch him. He wouldn’t necessarily get in _trouble_ or anything, but the last thing he needed was a lecture from Steve. Or worse—that little head shake Martha gave him every time he inevitably gorged himself on her amazing treats. _This time is different_ , he told himself, _I’m taking these to_ share _just like Martha wanted!_

Upon reaching his office, Richie gave a triumphant little cheer, stashing the cookies in one of his desk drawers. The rest were going to be for Eddie. Once he was munching on these little clouds of joy, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to forgive Richie for what really was a harmless little accident. Besides, how hard could it really be to get a little milkshake out of car upholstery? Hell, with the help of these cookies, he and Eddie would be best friends by the week’s end. 

Steve eventually came by to remind Richie of their next meeting (a Skype table read for the animated film role he had been hoping to score), and to his relief said nothing about the cookies. Richie went through the motions of his day, saying what and doing what was needed to make it through the endless list of script-readings and writing-sessions. His mind was far away, body on autopilot while he rehearsed his plan over and over again: 

Step 1. _Give Eddie the cookies._

Step 2. _Watch Eddie enjoy the cookies and be overcome with sugary bliss._

Step 3. _Apologize to Eddie._

Step 4. _Make Eddie fall in love with him._  
Step 5. _Run away with Eddie._

Step 6. _Live happily ever after._

Step 7. _Take the first train all the way to Bone Town_

Ok, maybe those last few steps were taking things a little far. The cookies were good, but they weren’t fucking _magic._ But a closeted guy could dream, couldn’t he? 

And finally, Richie was finished with his last meeting. Like clockwork, his phone buzzed with a message from Eddie, reading simply: _Here._ Richie’s face broke into a nervous grin. Time to face the man who probably never wanted to see him again. _That’s all gonna change soon enough_ , he told himself. He practically ran to his office, grabbing the plastic container before making his way down to the lobby. Martha, thankfully, had already gone for the day, her relief for the day staring boredly at the front desk computer. She was new, and Richie had yet to learn her name, but he was sure that she was no Martha. He gave her a quick nod that went unacknowledged as he exited the building. 

Eddie was parked right in front, somehow always getting the best spot. The engine idled as he looked down, and Richie didn’t need to see his phone to know that he was playing solitaire. Even from outside, he could see that the interior of the car was spotless. Richie couldn’t deny how impressed at the speed in which Eddie had managed to get everything cleaned up. Heart pounding in his throat, Richie carefully opened the car door as to not surprise (more like scare) Eddie the way he had the first time. 

The shorter man shot him a short sideways glance, before locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket. He said nothing while Richie buckled himself in, firmly grasping the plastic container of cookies. 

“Um, hey there, Eddie,” Richie greeted, uncomfortable with the heavy silence. “I feel just awful about earlier.” _Think think think think._ Richie struggled to come up with a quick quip, a witty one liner that would dissipate the awkwardness he felt deep in his gut. For once, his brain drew a blank. 

“Just don’t do it again. You’re lucky my guy is good.” Eddie put his phone away, and pulled out of the garage. Richie noticed Eddie has yet to look his way. “Now quit looking like someone shit in your cereal, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I still feel pretty bad. Could I at least pay you back for the cleaning?”

“As if I’m going to take your money, I budget for messes like that. You’d be surprised at the amount of times a big celeb has spilled something in these cars. At least milkshake didn’t set in.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

The ride back to Richie’s condo was quiet, Eddie not looking at Richie once. The comedian spent the whole time trying to find the right moment to present his peace offering. Not even the radio, which has settled at this point to remain on an easy listening station at low volume, could prove to be a distraction. 

It wasn’t until Richie heard Eddie put the vehicle in park did he realize they were outside his abode. 

_Well now’s a good time as any,_ Richie thought to himself.

“Hey, one of the receptionists gave me some cookies today. I know you’re still mad about the mess I made, but consider this an olive branch.” Richie extended the small tupperware of baked goods towards Eddie.

“Those are yours, you eat them.” Eddie turned to look at the offering, surveying it uncertainly. 

“Oh trust me, I ate my fill already. Any more and my shredded 8-pack will be demoted to a 6-pack,” Richie joked, patting his belly. “Just take them, I’ve never had anything better than Martha’s cookies.” He jiggled the tupperware a bit, a sheepish grin peaking out. 

“Fine.” Eddie snatched the goodies from Richie’s hand. “Thanks, I guess. You know I’m not really mad, I just wanted to see you sweat a little.”

Eddie looked up at Richie for the first time that entire car ride. Richie couldn’t help but turn a bit red at the sorry look Eddie was giving him. 

“I mean, I was kind of acting like a huge tool. I guess I deserved it.” Richie wanted to pat Eddie’s back, but managed to restrain himself, offering a wide grin instead. “But seriously, try a cookie. Martha’s cookies are like a gift from the gods themselves.” Richie blew a little chef’s kiss. 

Eddie caved, apprehensively opening the lid and grabbing a single cookie to examine it closely. Eventually he took a bite, a bit of chocolate smeared on the corner of his mouth. Richie’s eyes fixated on the smear, and it took every ounce of strength and impulse control he had not to lick the smear off himself.

“Uh, Richie?”

“Hmm?” Richie’s mind was elsewhere, picturing himself laying the smoothest of moves, swiping the chocolate and sucking it off his own finger. And then Eddie would turn a bright red as Richie leaned in, their faces slowly coming closer and closer until—

“There’s Nutella in this.” 

“Mmhmm?”

“Richie.”

“What’s up?”

Eddie’s face turned severe. “I’m super allergic to hazelnut.”

“...What?”

Richie was ripped from his daydream at Eddie’s words, and he could visibly see Eddie begin to panic. “Oh shit, oh my god—Eddie! I didn’t know! I thought it was just chocolate!”

“My epipen! It’s in the glove compartment!” 

Eddie began to cough, and it didn’t sound pretty.

“Shitshitshishit,” Richie frantically hissed, cursing his large, clumsy hands as he fumbled with the handle. 

The glove box was neat and organized (he wouldn’t expect anything else from Eddie at this point) making the bright orange Epipen easy to spot. He grabbed the injector and looked at Eddie expectantly, whose coughs had turned into a high-pitched hacking. 

“What do I do?” Richie almost yelled in his panic, heart pounding in his throat. 

“Instruct- _ack_ -instructions- _ACK!”_ Eddie gasped, left hand reaching up to grasp his own throat.

Instructions, _of course_ there were instructions. Easy to read diagrams that told him to remove the blue safety release cap and then administer the injection in his upper thigh. Hit the auto-release, wait three seconds. Seemed easy enough. So why was Richie frozen in fear, the sound of Eddie’s choking coughs ringing louder and louder in his ears. He knew that they probably had mere minutes, if not seconds, otherwise 

_(eddie is gonna die and it's gonna be all your fault you're useless he’s gonna die and you’re gonna stay alone and he’s gonna die he’s gonna die he’s gonna)_

things were going to get _bad._ Each of his own heartbeats was a reminder that Eddie’s were numbered, and could very well be reaching their final countdown if he didn’t act fast. 

And then Eddie’s right hand shot out to clutch Richie’s shoulder in a vice-like grip, jolting Richie back into the present moment. He yanked off the blue tab, grasping the injector and shoving it into the outside of Eddie’s upper thigh. His driver’s fingers somehow squeezed impossibly tighter as the needle broke the skin, and Richie swore his own heart stopped beating for just a moment. He pressed down the auto-release, and counted silently to himself before removing the needle.

Eddie continued to hack for a few moments that felt like an eternity to Richie. 

_(you’re too late he’s gonna die he’s gonna die)_

Eddie’s grip slackened, but his hand stayed heavily on Richie’s shoulder. The high pitched whistle in Eddie’s throat quieted, and though his breathing did not quite steady, his coughing did eventually stop. His fingers left his throat, and he opened his mouth to speak—but Richie couldn’t quite make out the words that came out. 

“Eddie? Are you okay?” 

“M-massage,” he croaked, eyes nearly closed. “You-you’re supposed to massage the area.” 

Richie felt his face grow hot, and was suddenly hyper aware of the weight of Eddie’s hand still on his shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

He reached out with his left hand, cautiously prodding the area he had just _stabbed_ with an Epipen. 

“Harder,” Eddie’s voice was a little stronger now, tinged with that signature annoyed tone that Richie had come to know and love. 

Richie wanted to make a joke, but found that all other coherent thought left his mind, only able to think about all the other ways he wanted to hear Eddie say the word _harder._ He filed those thoughts away for later use, and heeded his driver’s instruction. He firmly clutched Eddie’s thigh, using his thumb to massage the area in broad, circular strokes. Eddie’s groaned a little, and Richie thought that today was probably designed purely to torture him. His heart was racing again, this time for entirely different reasons than before. Eddie’s thigh was thick and solid under his hand, and it wasn’t hard for Richie to tell that it was pure muscle under the expensive-feeling material of his pants. He swallowed thickly, adding that information to the aforementioned mental filing cabinet. 

“Ok, that’s fine,” Eddie said after a few moments of this, hand dropping from Richie’s shoulder. 

“Eddie? You alright, dude?” Richie asked urgently, withdrawing his own hand. His skin burned where it had been in contact with his thigh. 

“What do you think?” Eddie’s voice was still weak, but his breathing was a little more even. 

“I think you almost just died, man. We need to get you to the hospital.” 

“No, no. Just get me home, I need to see my wife,” there was an urgency in Eddie’s voice, almost like fear. 

“I’ll call her, she can meet us at the hospital—” 

“Are you deaf? I need Myra,” Eddie insisted, and there was something in his eyes that Richie did not like. 

“Are you kidding—” 

Richie was cut off by the most annoying ringtone he’d ever heard in his life. That terrible cupcake song that he thought had died with the rest of the trends of the early aughts. The comedian knew that there was _no way in hell_ that Eddie had chosen that ringtone himself, and only wondered what kind of person could have convinced him to do otherwise. 

“Let me guess, that’ll be Myra.” 

Eddie refused to answer him as he reached over and answered the phone. Connected to the car’s Bluetooth, Myra’s shrill voice bled through the speakers. 

“EDDIE-BEAR, IT’S AWFULLY LATE, WHY AREN’T YOU HOME YET?” 

For a short instant, Richie’s mind went blank, and a heavy wave of déjà vu hit him light a freight train as the piercing voice filled the space. As soon as the feeling came, it left.

“I-I’m sorry Myra, I’ll be home shortly.” It took a brief moment for Eddie to reply, still catching his breath. This did not seem to escape the woman on the phone.

“EDDIE WHY DOES YOUR VOICE SOUND LIKE THAT? ARE YOU OK? WHAT HAPPENED? DID YOU FORGET TO TAKE YOUR MEDICATION AGAIN? YOU NEED TO COME HOME.” Blared Myra, her voice becoming more and more erratic. “COME HOME, LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU!”

Richie didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Not even a minute of hearing Eddie’s wife, and he already wanted to punch his head in. How could Eddie stand this? She talked to him like a child. Plus, he clearly should be going to a hospital, why was Eddie insisting on going home? Richie thought of the horrible noise that his throat had made as he hacked and hacked, how seemingly close he had been to death. 

( _because of you he almost died because of you it’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault)_

“...Richie? RICHIE!

That horrible voice was once again interrupted, and Richie looked up to see Eddie’s face. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining a slight blue tinge fading from his lips or not; but he was definitely envisioning leaning forward and catching those lips with his own. With a shake of his head, he banished the very thought. What kind of asshat imagines making out with a dude while he’s on the phone with his wife? 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Do you mind calling me an Uber or something? I’ll pick up the car tomorrow in the morning.” Eddie muttered, still looking fairly weak. Richie looked at the phone, seeing Myra was still on the line.

“Are you sure? You should really go to the hospital. Isn’t there some kind of follow-up treatment or something?”

“HE’LL BE FINE, I’LL BE CARING FOR HIM, JUST GET MY EDDIE-BEAR HOM,” cried Myra, almost shattering Richie’s eardrums. This lady was a real piece of work.

( _jealous she has what you can’t have you almost killed him you don’t deserve him you fucked up you fucked up you)_

“Ok, no worries, I’ll get your ‘Eddie-bear’ home in one piece. Eddie-bear, switch spots with me. I can drive you.” He exited the passenger seat to walk around to the driver’s side, while Eddie hobbled over the armrest. 

“I’LL BE OUTSIDE THE HOUSE WAITING EDWARD!” Myra’s voice chimed in, like a brick in a glasshouse. “I LOVE YOU, SWEETIE.” 

Eddie didn’t bother responding as he tapped on the red button, ending the call. Richie looked over as Eddie struggled with his seatbelt, his hands still shaking from the side effects of the Epipen. Still full of frustration over the horrible conversation that had taken place, Richie leaned over and whipped the seatbelt over the smaller man’s frame, clicking it in place. 

He pulled carefully back into the flow of traffic, driving like a grandpa so as to not exacerbate any discomfort he was worried Eddie might be feeling. 

“Where’s your house, Eddie?” Richie glanced over at his driver, who was holding his head in his hands with a nauseous look plastered across his face. “Eddie! Eddie, I need to know where to go.”

“Hey Siri, take me home.”

 _“Getting directions to home,”_ the robot lady’s voice replied, spawning a map that was mirrored on the LED screen in the dashboard. 

Richie carefully followed the directions, making his way to Eddie’s home. He was surprisingly close, less than half an hour away. Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet during the ride, still struggling to steady his labored breathing. The silence was unsettling, and made Richie’s skin crawl. The high-pitching voice of Myra Kaspbrak echoed shrilly in his ears, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had returned. As much as he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt—her husband had just been on the brink of death for chrissakes—there was something about the way she spoke to Eddie that just didn’t sit right with him. Even worse, Eddie just sat there and complied like a scared little dog. 

_(what goes on between a husband and wife is none of your business faggot)_

Richie’s jaw clenched, and he tried to focus on the drive, not being able to help the growing sense of dread with each mile that brought them closer and closer to Eddie’s wife. He was unable to delay the inevitable, however, and soon enough they had reached their destination. 

Putting the car in park, Richie glanced at Eddie. He seemed to be doing a lot better for a man who had seemingly been close to dying. But there was something in his eyes, a hollow, haunted look that struck Richie to his core. 

“Eddie, you alright, man?” he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. “You look pretty fucked up. Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the hospital?” 

Before Eddie could even open his mouth to respond, the door was ripped open by who could only be his wife. She all but yanked him from the car, stopped only by the seat belt that was still buckled. Eddie frantically reached for the button, pushing it and allowing her to sweep him up and into her massive arms. Richie immediately exited the car, peering over the hood to survey the scene that Myra was currently causing. 

“OH MY GOD EDDIE WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

“It was just an allergic reaction, honey,” Eddie answered weakly, as she looked him over, turning his face from side to side and checking for a temperature. “I accidentally ate a cookie with some hazelnut in it.”

“HAVEN’T I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM NUTS, EDDIE YOU COULD HAVE _DIED!_ AND WHAT WOULD I HAVE _DONE_ WITHOUT YOOOOOOOU?!” she wailed, pulling Eddie into her expansive chest

He was practically swallowed by her substantial form, and Richie was almost certain that she would suffocate him if she kept pressing his head into her bosom like that. 

“Hey, maybe give Eddie a little space, he needs air,” he called out, his worry sounding a little more like disdain. 

Her beady eyes snapped to Richie with a look of pure disgust. She did not relinquish her husband. 

“WHAT DO YOOOOOOOU KNOW ABOUT WHAT MY EDDIE-BEAR NEEDS?!” she all but bellowed. “HE HAS A VERY DELICATE SYSTEM.” 

“Geez, lady, you don’t need to yell, I’m just saying he probably should get some medical attention—”

“I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF TAKING CARE OF MY HUSBAND!” 

“Oh, so you have a medical degree? You know, like a doctor?” 

“ARE YOU SASSING ME?!” her voice had raised to an almost deafening decibel, and Richie could only imagine how impossibly loud it must sound to Eddie—who was still being clutched fiercely against his wife. 

“Oh my fucking god—this isn’t about you.”

Richie was pissed now, what the hell was her problem, they were on the same side, weren’t they? The side that wanted Eddie to be safe. 

“This is about your husband who _very clearly_ needs a doctor!” he insisted. 

Myra looked like a ticking time bomb, just ready to explode. Her mouth opened to deliver what was most certainly would be her most scathing retort yet, when Eddie’s atypically soft voice cut her off: 

“Richie, I’ll be fine. Myra can take it from here.” His eyes met Richie, dark and deep and full of unspoken pain that said otherwise. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure?” Richie didn’t want to leave him alone with this woman. Something about it felt all wrong. 

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, sounding like he was trying to assure himself more than Richie.

The taller man was not convinced, but nodded nonetheless. Myra threw him one last smug look of triumph, before helping Eddie up the walkway to their house. Richie watched them disappear behind the front door, his stomach a ball of nerves and anxiety. _Why do I feel like I just threw Eddie to the wolves?_

_(simple it's because you’re jealous you want what she has and now you’re just a jealous faggot who has a schoolboy crush on a married man)_

“Ugh, shut up,” Richie grunted aloud. 

He could feel a raging headache coming on. He pressed the heels of his palm to his temples, seeking to ease the tension behind his eyes. 

As much as he hated that voice, with it’s constant nagging reminders of what he already knew about himself, he couldn’t deny it’s truth. Eddie was off limits. Straight, married, and obviously not interested—the ultimate trifecta. As much as Richie denied this core part of who he was, as much as he tried to believe the version of himself that his writing team had constructed, Richie knew it was only a matter of time before he would snap. He couldn’t keep lying to himself like this. With every joke on stage about his many fictional girlfriends, with every headline flashing a strategic new pap shot of him out with a random model set up by Steve, with every new turn at this horrible game, Richie felt another part of him slowly melt away. 

He wasn’t sure why he was so afraid to come out of the closet. When not working in New York, he lived in LA, the gays’ paradise (next to Miami). And he was living in a time where now, more than ever, it was perfectly acceptable to be an out and proud gay man. Hell, the gays could even get married now. But there was this deeply instilled fear within him, that horrible voice that warned of all of the terrible, bad things that _could_ happen if he came out: ghostly flashes of countless gay bashing from a hometown he barely remembered overtook his mind, and a shiver ran through Richie’s body. And what would his core audience of straight, thirty-something males say if their favorite, overtly-sexual comic came out and said he liked dick? That was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be. 

He sighed deeply, taking his phone in his hand. Richie tapped on the Uber app, typing in his address. He sighed deeply once his request was in, holding his phone against his forehead and leaned against Eddie’s car while he waited. Closing his eyes, he practically counted the moments until his phone buzzed with a notification that his ride was just around the corner. 

“You Bob?” The driver of a dark blue sedan lowered the window as he pulled up, glancing at Richie as he stood at the curb. All the comedian could do was nod as he hopped into the back seat. 

“You know, has anyone ever told you you look like just like that comedian guy, erm, what was his name?” Richie tried to tune out the driver, who he guessed meant well. “Trashmouth! Thats it! Thats who you remind me of!”

“Never heard of him.” Richie replied monotonously. 

He stared out the window as they drove farther and farther away from the place, the place that he saw with his own eyes cause Eddie’s own to look so desolate. 

“Oh man, you don’t know what you’re missing! He’s got this bit about his girlfriend’s friend and Facebook….” 

Richie ignored what sounded like a fan, thinking back to wonder why Eddie went from the brash and passionate man he had come to know, to looking so small and helpless with just the sound of his wife on the phone. Fucking Myra Kasbrak. What a piece of work. He hadn’t known her for five minutes, and he already knew something was not right with her. The proof was right there, with how Eddie folded under her thumb like a goddamn piece of origami paper.

“And then he says he goes to Masturbators Anonymous! HA! Telling you, he’s a class act—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt what sounds like a totally kickass story, but do you have an Iphone charger?” Richie interrupted. His driver passed him a blue charging cable, and continued giving Richie a play-by-play of his own act.

Richie just wanted this guy to shut up; his loud, thick New York accent was getting on his last nerve. This was all wrong; Eddie should be driving him home, nagging him to put his seatbelt and to stop flipping through radio channels. This guy was nothing like Eddie, and it unnerved him to his core.

( _you wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t such a fuck up you’re the one who spilled milkshake in his car you’re the one who gave eddie those cookies you’re the reason that beast of a wife is probably driving him insane you should have just taken him to the hospital but you took him home instead do you even care about his safety this is all your fault you useless faggot you’re the problem you’re the problem you’re the)_

_“SHUT UP!”_

Richie didn’t realize how he had yelled that out loud until his temporary driver huffed in response: 

“Alright, alright, you don’t gotta be rude about it.”

“No—wait— that’s not—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I have a major headache, and I just need to get home.” 

Richie tossed his glasses into the seat beside him, proceeding to rub his face with the palms of his hand. 

“If you say so pal.”

The rest of the drive home was uneventful, the driver did not speak another word to Richie. He rested his head in his hands, leaning on the window for support. 

What felt like an actual eternity later, his condominium building came into view as they turned the corner. 

“Here you go, man, hope you feel better.” 

“Thanks for the ride.” Richie grabbed his wallet and, without thinking, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and dropped it in the man’s tip jar. “I appreciate you, and I hope you enjoy my next project.”

Richie didn’t bother waiting for the man to react as he shut the car door behind him, waving at the doorman as he trudged into the building, taking the elevator up to his penthouse condo. He walked straight into his home, not bothering to kick off his shoes, and flopped face first onto his unmade bed. 

His mind once again went back to Eddie. He couldn’t erase how terrified he had been at seeing Eddie’s life on a countdown. And no matter how much he tried, he could not get Eddie’s pained and defeated look when he walked back into his home with Myra out of his mind. It was in that moment when Richie resigned to finally admit to himself: he had wanted to take Eddie away right then and there. He wanted to rip him out of Myra’s grasp, and take him to where no one else could ever find them. He wanted to ease Eddie’s pain, bring back Eddie’s fire he had so become so accustomed to. 

He had never in his life fallen this hard and this fast for someone. It almost scared him how little time had passed before Eddie had completely taken over his mind, his heart, and his life. He had only known Eddie for such a short amount of time, but his soul felt like he had known him for decades. It just so _happened_ this person was male, _happened_ to be straight, _happened_ to be married. And Richie just so _happened_ to be so deep in the closet, there was nothing he could about it even if he really wanted to. And he _really_ wanted to. 

Richie needed a _drink_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are basically writing themselves. Y'all AIN'T READY for the next chapter -Lynds


	3. Eddie's Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets fucked up, Eddie gets elevated. In that order. 
> 
> AKA horny chapter #1

There were a myriad of reasons why Richie Tozier felt like complete and utter shit as he blearily opened his eyes to bright, unforgiving sunlight. The first one being that he had quite literally almost killed his chauffeur less than twenty-four hours prior. The second one being that he had drunk through half of his liquor cabinet and passed out cold in the middle of his living room floor. And from the white dust scattered across his glass-top coffee table, it seemed he had done quite a bit of blow as well. 

And then there was the matter of the nightmare. Most details were quickly spilling away, but certain aspects were impossible to forget: the horribly wet smell of decay; the feeling of fingers—cold and wet with rot—grasping for his throat; echoing, cacophonous laughter filling his ears and mind, drowning out all emotion except pure, unadulterated fear. And somehow, worst of all, a clown, with shining yellow eyes and a mouth full of razors. It was the source of the ghastly sound, holding in It’s clawed hands a festival of blood red balloons, each adorned with the same daunting message:

_ I KNOW YOUR SECRET.  _

His pulse pounded heavily in his temple as he tried to blink away that terrible dream. Each throb was a reminder of the series of bad decisions that led him to be sprawled out across the throw rug some interior designer had picked out for him. His phone buzzed a few feet away from his head. He reached out and slid it toward him, groaning when he saw what looked like a string of missed calls and texts from Eddie: 

_ Here _

Missed Call

_ I’m outside _

Missed call

_ Where are you?  _

Before he could even fathom how or what to reply, there was a quick rapping on the front door that made his entire body jolt. He scrambled to his feet too fast, and almost fell right back down again. He caught himself on the curved back of another piece of furniture he didn’t pick, using that momentum to launch himself towards the door.  _ Fuck I’m still drunk _ , he realized as he stumbled into the wall, hand struggling to find the deadbolt. 

Another urgent knock, followed by the unmistakable sound of his driver’s voice: “Hey, Richie? We’re running late. What’s going on?” 

“Uhh, just a minute,” Richie grunted back, the sound of his own voice further exacerbating the now unbearable pounding behind his eyes. 

His fingers finally found the bolt, turning it to unlock his door. Eddie stood there, wearing a petulant frown that softened for just a moment when he set eyes on Richie. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Eddie muttered, taking in the taller man’s disheveled appearance. 

His view from the doorway was a sorry one, surveying the state of Richie’s condo with mild disgust.  _ Is this how he really lives?  _ He thought to himself, both repulsed and concerned. He didn’t even want to think about the suspicious white powder that was very much visible on the coffee table. It would only piss him off even more if Richie were to try and excuse it away. 

“Why aren’t you wearing pants? We gotta go!”

“Huh?” Richie looked down to find, indeed, his The Simpson’s boxer briefs were out in the open, for all the world (and Eddie) to see. He let out a groan as he rubbed his face with open palms, not bothering to watch his step as he swayed back towards his room.

“Are you listening to me? We have to go! We’re already late for your first morning meeting!”

Richie didn’t even look back, only giving Eddie a slight wave.

“I had a really long night, I’m not feeling too great.” 

Still barely paying attention to where his feet were taking him, Richie collided with the wall as he tried to round a corner too quickly. He stumbled to the ground, groaning miserably as he landed hard on his knees. Eddie immediately rushed over to help him back up, giving him a once over to see if there were any visible injuries from what was clearly an eventful night. 

“...hey, hey, Richie!” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Richie’s unfocused eyes. “Ok let’s get you lying down.”

Rolling his sleeves up, Eddie hoisted the bleary man’s arm over his shoulders, slowly walking towards the living room to carefully lay him down on the couch. It would have gone more smoothly had his hand not still been hooked around Eddie’s neck while he tried to set him down. He let out a yelp as Richie gracelessly yanked him down with him, foreheads knocking into each other painfully.

It took a few seconds of moaning from the pain on their foreheads for Eddie to realize how much of a compromising position they were in—Richie lying beneath him, as he practically straddled him. Eddie’s face went bright red as he clamored off of the comedian as quickly as he could, nearly falling down in the process. It didn’t look like Richie himself even noticed as he continued to bemoan and nurse his aching head. 

“I’ll let Steve know you’re not feeling well, then.” Eddie pulled his phone out, and sent a quick text to Richie’s manager. He continued concernedly, “Do you need me to get you anything?” 

All Richie did was shake his head, still refusing to look up at his chauffeur. Eddie took that as his cue to leave—and he would have, had he not felt a soft tug on his sleeve as he took a step. Looking down, Richie had grabbed a hold of Eddie’s jacket, finally looking up at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Could you stay for a bit?” was all Richie could say, not ready to see Eddie walk out his door just yet, unwilling to be left alone. 

Slight confusion crossed Eddie’s face. 

“Sure, I can stay. I mean—I technically don’t have anywhere to go.” He slowly sat back down, awkwardly rubbing his hands on his pant legs. “What happened to you last night?”

“Don’t worry about it, I just had a little too much fun when I got home.” Richie chuckled softly, the low rumble of his laugh electrifying Eddie’s skin, and he suppressed a shiver. 

“Yeah I can see that.” Eddie noted sharply, eyeing the obvious cocaine strewn about the table in front of them. “Does Steve, uh, know about all this?”

“He thought I quit a long time ago.” A pit of shame began to heat up in Richie’s gut, suddenly regretting asking Eddie to

( _ finally see you for what you are to see how weak you are to see that you’re just a useless piece of shit) _

stay with him.

“You know it’s not really smart to mix drugs and alcohol,” Eddie reprimanded matter-of-factly. Richie turned to Eddie, as if to ask him how he knew. “I can smell it on your breath, plus—” He gestured at the various empty liquor bottles littering the living space. “—it was hard  _ not  _ to notice.”

“Can’t get nothing past ol’ Eddie-bear,” Richie muttered, slapping a hand to his face with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t really looking for a lecture, you know.”

“Well, what  _ were  _ you looking for?” 

Eddie didn’t expect Richie to make such intense eye contact then, nor did he expect the silence that followed his question, having grown used to his razor sharp wit and quick tongue. And for a moment, it looked like his client was actually going to give him a serious answer. That was, before the little color that was left in Richie’s face drained completely, and the man careened to his feet, making a beeline for what Eddie assumed to be a bathroom. The sounds of retching soon followed, and the smaller man shook his head. 

He got to his feet, taking a moment to survey Richie’s apartment. It was the first time he had actually been inside, and holy  _ shit _ did it look expensive. They were in a huge, elegant penthouse with a spacious, open floor plan. The decor surprised Eddie; he wouldn’t have pegged Richie for a Scandinavian interior design fan, more like a mid-century modern type. His best guess was that someone picked everything out for him, like most celebrities these days. Whoever it was, they had  _ great _ taste. Eddie thought about his own home, and all the kitschy garbage that Myra had adorned it with. He wrinkled his nose. 

More heaving noises from the restroom, followed by the sound of a toilet flushing. Richie emerged after a moment, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry you had to hear all that barfing,” he muttered, collapsing on the couch. “Can you pass me a water? There should be some in the fridge.” 

He pointed lazily towards the kitchen. 

“What am I now, your personal assistant?” 

Despite the complaint, Eddie made his way over to the fridge. Inside he found four rows of Voss water bottles arranged neatly on the top shelf. The middle shelf held a couple of take out containers, half a bottle of _ top shelf  _ cabernet sauvignon, and a jar of garlic pickles. Save for a case of beers on the bottom shelf, everything else was barren. Eddie grabbed two water bottles. 

“You know you outta be arrested for keeping that bottle of Hundred Acre Arc in the fridge. That’s a $600 cab sauv that’s supposed to be served  _ room temp.” _

Richie took the water with a gutted moan. 

_ “Please  _ don’t mention alcohol right now,” he begged. “I might puke again.”

_ “Please _ don’t do that.” 

“No promises, buddy.” 

Richie all but ripped the top off of the glass bottle, tossing his head back and chugging it in a few easy gulps. Eddie watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and there was a tightening in his stomach that he didn’t feel too often. His cheeks grew hot and he forced himself to look down, only to find himself staring directly at Richie’s bare thighs. Praying that his face wasn’t anywhere near as red as it felt, he had to avert his eyes completely as Richie finished the bottle off.

“You know, I barely remember my childhood,” Richie blurted out, doleful eyes blinking dimly. “How fucked up is that?”

Eddie was taken aback by the sudden proclamation, and all he could manage to bring himself to say was, “Okay.” 

Richie let out a bark of laughter, a rueful sound devoid of any real pleasure. 

“Okay is right.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.”    


_ “You  _ don’t make sense,” Richie retorted, crossing his arms. 

“And you’re still drunk.” 

Richie laughed again, this time less derisive and more amused. 

“You know I was bullied, right?” his voice was lower now, and Eddie thought he could see the shine of a tear in his eye. 

“Yeah, we covered this already,” Eddie replied, taking a seat next to Richie on the couch. “Everyone gets bullied.”

“What’s funny is I don’t remember the asshole’s face, or even his name.” Richie grinned, but this grin seemed off to Eddie. Like this grin never reached his eyes, and it was unnerving. Eddie wasn’t used to seeing Richie this quiet, this introspective.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Why would you want to remember an asshole who made your life miserable?”

“I guess I just wanted to remember the face of the fucker who beat me up and called me a good for nothing faggot, just to have that satisfaction of proving him wrong. I mean, you remember the guy who broke your arm, right?”

Eddie let out a breath, he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Actually, not really. I figured it was just suppressed trauma. At least that’s what my therapist told me.” Eddie paused. “Wait—how did you know that a bully broke my arm?”

“You told me.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

Eddie had in fact had his arm broken at the hands of a childhood bully. It was a hazy memory, and one that he had shared with very few people—not even Myra knew this little fact about his life. “I would remember telling you.” 

“I dunno what to tell you man.” Richie shrugged. “I’m pretty sure you told me last time we were talking about the kids who used to fuck us up.” 

“I think I’d remember that.” Eddie’s voice was filled with doubt. 

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Richie said simply. “Anyway, I I tried therapy once—Steve suggested it. It didn’t really work out for me. I just don’t get the whole concept of telling a complete stranger your problems. How are they gonna tell me what’s up with me if I don’t even remember how I grew up?”

“How about telling a friend?”

Richie looked over at Eddie, and felt his heart leap with how sincere and concerned he looked. For a moment he considered telling Eddie the truth: he hated his new material, he was living a complete lie, and was teetering dangerously close to a cliff that could only lead to his rock bottom. Richie had never had anyone in his life he felt close enough to spill all of his baggage to. Steve knew some of it, but hadn’t really scraped the bottom of the barrel yet, not by a longshot. One of the biggest drawbacks of celebrity life was the constant paranoia that everyone around him was in it for something else—they were all full of ulterior motives, always wanting  _ something _ from him rather than genuine appreciation of his company. 

_ (surprise surprise no one wants to be your friend no one wants to be around you for two minutes unless they’re on your payroll all you do is fuck up and burden everyone around you you useless piece of shit you fucking idiot fucking) _

“I would if I had any,” Richie chided, a little more sharp than he intended. 

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, asshole,” Eddie snapped, not unkindly. “I clearly meant me, but carry on with your self-depreciative bullshit if it’s gonna make you feel better.” 

Eddie’s sharp tone brought him back to this plane, and his brain finally found solid ground when the other man placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Richie’s shoulder. His heart fluttered as he felt the head of his palm, disgusted by how much he wanted to feel it somewhere else. Here they were about to have Eddie’s version of a heart-to-heart, and all Richie could think about was how much he wanted to fuck him. 

“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t run for the hills by now.” Richie managed a shaky laugh. “Fuck, I almost killed you yesterday! God, we’re sitting here and I’m just venting like an asshole—how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine; I’ve dealt with worse. You’re not the first to accidentally poison me, and you won’t be the last. I’m usually more careful about these kinds of things, but you really made those cookies sound so good.” Seeing that answer didn’t do anything to calm Richie’s sorry expression, Eddie sighed, pulling his hand back and running it through his hair. “You had no idea! Stop beating yourself up about it.” 

“Still, you scared the shit out of me. The press would eat me alive if they found out,” Richie joked.

Eddie cracked a smile.

“I can see the headlines now: ‘Dudebro Funny Man Delivers Innocent Driver to Deathbed with Delicious Dessert.’”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny?” Richie smirked.

“No, I think you’re a dickwad who needs to listen when his driver says not to eat food in his vehicle. Or spill milkshakes.” 

“Okay, that was a total accident!” Richie retorted. “I told you I’d pay for it!”

“That’s what you get for buying a goddamn _ Arby’s _ Reuben, I told you no good comes from wasting your money on garbage.” 

“I have no regrets.” Richie’s eyes wandered to scattered lines on the table, and he noticed Eddie follow his gaze. “Well, I guess maybe a few. In my defense, it was some  _ really good _ coke.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t do drugs.” 

“You’re such a square, dude,” Richie teased. 

“Am not!” 

Eddie gave an indignant scowl, his upper lips pulling into a type of snarl. It was a look he made often at Richie, especially when he was annoyed—which was basically all the time. In his still-altered state, it occurred to the comedian just how much he absolutely adored that look on Eddie’s face. It was 

_ (the cutest face he had ever seen) _

probably the reason why he loved bothering him so much, just to get the chance to see that stupid little face. Richie actually laughed out loud, then grimaced at the fresh wave of pain the sound brought to his still pounding head. 

“Ugh, I’m so fucked up, man,” he groaned. 

Richie removed his glasses with a shaky hand, using the other to rub his face vigorously. Eddie’s scowl turned into a look of concern, offering Richie his unopened water bottle. The taller man took it gratefully, drinking it in smaller sips now—Eddie barely registered his mild disappointment when he didn’t get to watch Richie chug it down again, more worried about the abashed state of the man before him. 

“Maybe you should just sleep it off,” he suggested. “I’m sure Steve can get things taken care of today. Plus, Myra has been nagging me to run some errands with her, so it’ll give me some time to do that.” 

Richie’s jaw clenched for a split second, before he split into a wide grin that didn’t quite reach his far-away eyes. 

“You’re right, Eddie-bear, Steve is one hell of a manager, so I’m sure he can  _ manage _ without me,” Richie waggled his eyebrows as Eddie groaned and shook his head. “Get it? Cause he’s my  _ manager _ —”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s the cue for me to go. And  _ don’t _ call me ‘Eddie-bear,’” he added. 

“Ohhhh EDDIE-BEAR, THESE ERRANDS AREN’T GOING TO RUN THEMSEEELVES!” Richie cried in a high falsetto, a near dead-ringer for Myra’s shrill voice. “HURRY HOME MY DEAR EDDDDDIIIEEEE-BEEEEAAR!!”

“Richie, what in the actual  _ fuck?”  _ Eddie looked truly horrified at Richie’s spot-on impression of his wife. 

“How did I do? I know it’s only been a day, but I think it’s pretty good—”

“Please don’t  _ ever  _ do that again,” Eddie’s voice was firmer this time, brows drawn together. 

The stone cold expression coming from Eddie—a stark difference to the friendly frown he had just seconds before—startled Richie. Of course he’d be protective of his wife, and wouldn’t take lightly to anyone having their fun at her expense.

_ (you’re an idiot to think otherwise) _

“Alright, sorry. My bad. Got you loud and clear, the missus is off limits.” Richie mimed zipping his lips, making sure to keep his wide grin on his face as much as possible, his usual mask for covering his true emotions. “Well you should probably go then, don’t wanna keep the wife waiting, Eddie-spaghetti.”

“That’s not my name either.” Eddie frowned, grabbing his coat.

“You are not free of my nicknames, Eduardo. Foolish of you to think otherwise.”

Eddie sighed, but a small upturn of his lips threatened to appear. “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you think I’m funny,” Richie quipped.

“No, I think you’re obnoxious.”

“Obnoxiously funny.”

A snort escaped Eddie, betraying the stern face he was trying oh so hard to maintain. “You’re about as funny as a broken toe.” 

“Hey, a broken toe can be pretty fucking hilarious in the right context,” Richie snickered, following Eddie towards the front entrance.

Before reaching for the door, Eddie turned back to Richie once more. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“You got it!”

Eddie placed his hand on Richie’s shoulder. “I mean it.”

“Er—I will, don’t worry.” Richie rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Say hi to Myra for me!”

Eddie rolled his eyes at him, giving Richie a slight wave of his hand as he stepped out the door. 

The second the door closed, Richie’s bright smile fell, letting out a frustrated groan.  _ Why did Eddie have to come in and see me like this?  _ he bemoaned to himself. His eyes drifted back to the coke on his coffee table. He walked over and took a seat on the floor in front of the table, and stared at the white powder for a while. 

A big part of him wanted to just dump it all in the garbage, ashamed that Eddie had seen him stoop to this level of pathetic. Grabbing an old credit card lying next to the coke, he dragged it around, drawing random patterns—contemplating throwing it all away, or just snorting it all right there and then.

In the end, he took the middle ground, leaning down to snort one last line before carefully shoveling the rest in a plastic bag. 

He leaned back on the couch, nostrils flaring as he sniffled a bit and swallowed thickly. It didn’t take long until he began to feel more alert, clouded mind clearing up more and more with each second. His heart beat started to race, as a feeling of euphoria enveloped his body. He noted the voice in his head was silent. Finally free for a moment of his dark thoughts, he let his mind wander back to Eddie, and just let his thoughts run wild. 

He thought of how different things would have been if Eddie weren’t married, not a single Myra in sight. He thought of how different his life would have been if he had the fucking balls to live proud of who he is. And what if Eddie was just as interested in Richie as he was in him? He allowed himself to picture what would have been, Richie finally getting the courage to ask Eddie out, maybe even bringing him back here, fixing the two of them dinner—possibly even ending the night with a good roll in the sheets. 

He could just imagine Eddie’s expression—typically set in a frown and brows scrunched together in annoyance—slack in pleasure, a different kind of groan coming from the man instead of those of frustration. He imagined Eddie begging, instead of nagging. 

The very mental image of Eddie in the throes of passion was enough to immediately excite Richie, his heart beating even faster, his breathing becoming heavy. A tension was building in the pit of his stomach as he thought of the feeling of Eddie’s thigh—thick with muscle—under his hand, the way he had groaned the word “ _ harder”  _ as Richie massaged him. He held on to that moment, replaying it over and over in his head. 

His fingers played with the waistband of his boxers, while Richie considered his next move. His fantasies about Eddie had at that point only stayed in his head; he hadn’t allowed himself the satisfaction of touching himself to the thought of his driver. He told himself it was out of respect, although it was more likely due to pure shame. But now, wired as he was, Richie quite frankly didn’t give a fuck. 

He shoved one hand into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hardening cock. Richie’s other hand found his phone, pulling up Facebook and clumsily typing  _ Edward Kaspbrak _ into the search bar with one thumb. Eddie’s profile was the first and only one to populate, and a needy sigh dropped from his mouth as he clicked through his photos, not quite sure what he was looking for. It seemed Eddie hadn’t updated his profile picture more than a few times over the years, each one featuring the same indifferent grin against various bland backgrounds. As attractive as the guy was, this wasn’t exactly spank bank material. 

Growing more desperate by the minute, Richie flipped over to his tagged photos, finding a myriad of candid shots of Eddie uploaded by one Myra Kaspbrak.  _ Ugh.  _ Just the name was enough to be a boner-killer, and Richie was a split second away from closing out of the app completely, when he spotted it; he had been scrolling through the album so fast he had almost missed a picture of Eddie wearing only a rather snug pair of swimming trunks, reclining on a large beach towel under the shade of a huge umbrella. A thick layer of sunscreen covered his nose like some cheesy 80’s sitcom, but he was staring off into the distant ocean with windswept hair, skin glistening with sweat or more sunscreen or  _ something _ , and Richie was suddenly rock hard. 

Fully hard now, Richie awkwardly shimmied his boxers halfway down his thighs one-handedly, eyes still trained on the amazing photo he had discovered. His hand began to slide up and down his now fully stiff cock, eyes raking over the image of Eddie hungrily. The small man was surprisingly well-built, and Richie wondered if he still looked like that under all of the clothes he usually wore. He once again recalled the hard, sinewy feel of Eddie’s thigh under his fingers and knew that he must. He focused on the fabric of the trunks stretched taut over the bulge of his crotch, and Richie contemplated what it would be like to take them off of him. His hand moved faster now, beads of precum glistening at his head. 

It was easy to imagine what Eddie would sound like moaning his name, pleading for Richie. He wanted to feel his lips on his skin, the rough scratch of stubble against his cheek, down his neck and stomach. A moan slipped from his mouth, hips bucking upwards in his excitement. He wanted to take Eddie away and make him feel  _ good _ . He wanted to lavish over him, wanted to taste his cock and lips and every other part of his body. Richie let out a loud whimper, grip tightening as his hand flew up and down his erection. He thought of Eddie’s hand, the hand that had grasped his shoulder so tightly, touching him the way he was touching himself. His heart pounded in his ears, and he knew that he was close to finishing.

Seconds before his sweet release, he swore he could feel Eddie’s hot breath hitting his ear, could almost hear the man moaning with abandon, and could almost taste the salt that permeated from his skin. All of Eddie enveloped him, consuming him completely. With one last mental image of Eddie—neck red from the exertion, his eyes pleading for everything Richie could possibly give him—the tight curling of pressure in his core let go.

Finally feeling himself go over the edge, a guttural moan ripped from Richie’s body, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mind completely went blank at the sheer force of his peak. His lower abdomen shone with the evidence of his climax. It took a few minutes for Richie’s breath to even out completely. He sat still, staring at his hand coated with his seed. His mind still rebooting from what might have possibly been the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced up to that point. 

At that point he didn’t know why he was still trying to process what he’d done. He decided to blame the coke. He certainly wasn’t going to blame his, at this point, absolutely undeniably immense attraction to a man he had to see every day—a straight, married man on his payroll. 

And as high and on cloud nine as he was not even moments ago, once his mind wrapped around what had just occurred, the shame in the pit of his stomach returned. Only, it went to the gym and beefed up apparently, because he felt so much worse than before. 

Looking down at his phone he still clutched in his hands, he stared at the photo of Eddie he had just masturbated to.  _ Well, at least now I won’t be lying during that little part of my standup _ . The thought was enough to crack a small smile, as he quickly saved the photo onto his phone without thinking. And then, for good measure, he snapped a quick shot of his own still-hard cock, thick pearls of cum roping down his shaft and pooling into the curls of hair that grew up his abdomen—he wasn’t sure why he did it, especially considering the two photos would live next to each other in his phone, undeniable proof of what he had done. But he knew who he was, and knew that this was probably not the only time he’d rub one out while looking at Eddie’s glistening stomach and tight as shit swim shorts.  _ What man this day in age even wears shorts that small?  _ He mused to himself. 

_ (what’s going to happen when eddie finds those pictures)  _

“He’s not going to find out,” Richie muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

_ (then he will know just how much of a fucking freak you are he will be disgusted by you he will hate you he will) _

“He won’t know, he’s never going to see it!”

_ (He’s going to find it and he will leave you like everyone does eventually he will leave you all alone just like you deserve you filthy little faggot) _

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!”

Richie’s booming voice echoed throughout the empty condo, further emphasizing just how alone he really was in this place. 

Finally standing and tugging his underwear back up, Richie trudged to the bathroom to wash himself. He stood there scrubbing furiously, intent on getting every atom of cum off his hands; he was paranoid that if any small amount was left, a bright neon sign would forever follow him, signaling to every passerby that he was the washed up comedian who jerked it to a random Facebook photo of his chauffeur. 

That title,  _ chauffeur _ —with all its context—now felt acidic in Richie’s mouth, almost rancid. He hated that he met Eddie under these circumstances. He hated that the first time he truly felt  _ something  _ for  _ someone _ , the person was unattainable in every conceivable way. He cut Eddie’s check; he was a closeted gay man whereas Eddie was  _ very much _ not. And from seeing Myra, Richie was probably the furthest from his type anyway. Which was even worse, considering Eddie checked every single box Richie had, and then some.

Finally satisfied with his clean up job, his hands and midriff were red from the force of his scrubbing. He thought about taking an actual shower, but didn’t have it in him to expend the effort. 

He lumbered back into the living room, surveying the mess that he had allowed Eddie to see. Empty beer and liquor bottles were strewn about, along with some takeout containers and the rest of Richie’s clothes from the day before.  _ He must think I’m fucking disgusting,  _ he bemoaned to himself. His eyes wandered back to the bag of cocaine on the table, recalling Eddie’s clear distaste for the substance. His high from earlier was already beginning to wear off, the full pounding in his head making a swift return. Well, as long as he was doing things that would disappoint Eddie....

Richie plopped back onto the couch, dumping half of the contents of the baggie back onto the coffee table surface. He cut up a few thick lines with practiced fingers, leaning down to immediately snort two back to back. Bringing his head back up, he sank into the cushions of the couch. Although his face contorted into a grimace at the bitter, chemically taste that ran down his throat, Richie relished the burn that tore through his nostril. He took a drink of water, but the residual coke that coated the back of his tongue made it taste like shit and he almost threw up again. He tossed the bottle off to the side without capping it, not caring when its contents began to pour out onto the floor. 

Richie felt his pulse quicken, and his eyes darted around the room. It was still a mess, no surprise there seeing as he hadn’t made the slightest notion to clean it up. He’d be sure to leave the housekeeper an extra fat tip tomorrow, one that would make yesterday’s Uber driver jealous. His eyes landed on the digital clock shining on his cable box, reading 11:18 AM.  _ It’s five o’clock somewhere, _ he told himself decidedly with a grin.  _ Or maybe it’s beer-thirty. Or possibly wine o’clock. _

Richie giggled to himself at that one. He was feeling better already. He stood, swaggering over to the kitchen and pulling the bottle of wine out of the fridge. He considered how offended Eddie had been over this chilled cab sauv and laughed again as he took a deep swig straight from the bottle.  _ He _ definitely couldn’t tell the difference. Tasted just fine to him, and washed out that chemically coke taste from the back of his throat. 

“God, that guy needs to get  _ laid,”  _ Richie said out loud, and his chuckles were becoming more manic by the moment. “Hell,  _ I  _ need to get laid. Maybe we could help each other out, huh, Eds?” 

He fell silent, waiting for an answer that he knew deep down wouldn’t come. 

_ “You gotta be kidding,” _ he answered himself after a beat, his first attempt at an Eddie impression. It wasn’t bad, but definitely wasn’t his best. He continued in his normal voice: “Nah, Eddie’s mouth is way dirtier than that.” 

A curl of desire flickered in his gut at the double entendre, but he was so focused on finding Eddie’s voice that he didn’t pay the feeling much attention. He took another deep draught of wine. 

_ “Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth,”  _ he said, fast and angry. This time he knew that he was closer to nailing Eddie’s voice, but there was still something that wasn’t hitting the mark for him. He decided to give it one more shot, if he didn’t nail it then, he was never going to get it. He set himself up with: “So, Eddie Spaghetti, are you ready to ride this train to bone town, or what?” 

_ “Beep-beep, Richie,”  _ he said in Eddie’s quick voice, annoyed and endearing all at once. It was perfect. 

He tried to recall when he had heard Eddie use that phrase.  _ Beep-beep, Richie.  _ It was comforting, filling him with a warm, dim nostalgia. He was sure he had heard the man use it before, as a nicer way of saying “shut the hell up” when Richie’s excited ramblings got particularly animated. And with how often that happened, he was sure he had heard Eddie use the phrase many times, probably every damn day—even if he couldn't quite remember. Oh well, it’s not like he had a great memory anyway. The booze didn’t help. And the drugs most certainly didn’t, either. That’s why he had Steve. 

_ Fuck.  _

Richie had forgotten all about Steve. The poor guy was probably scrambling around trying to get all of his meetings rescheduled. Not to mention getting things ready for his international tour that was scheduled for the next spring. He was always covering for his sorry ass, and Richie was about to make his whole week a lot harder. He made his way back to the couch, grabbing for his phone and typing out the message: 

_ Hey man, I’m not feeling great today. Might need a few days to chill out.  _

His phone made a  _ whooshing  _ noise when the text sent, and the little three dots immediately popped up to show that Steve was responding. 

_ How long?  _

Richie replied:    


_ Idk maybe a week???  _

He then added: 

_ I’m thinking of going to see a therapist.  _

Now that was an outright lie, but he was looking for little questions and a lot of sympathy. His phone  _ ding- _ ed with Steve’s response: 

_ I’ll see what I can do.  _

Richie felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if Steve could see through his bullshit. He wouldn’t doubt it; that man had been putting up with his antics for so long, he could catch Richie in a lie a mile away. Sometimes that’s the kind of energy Richie needed in his life, and the comedian made sure he was paid  _ very  _ well for it. He chugged down the rest of the bottle, tossing that to the floor as well. It landed with a heavy thud on the carpet. His eyes landed on the two lines of coke just waiting for him on the coffee table. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, leaning over and downing them in a few swift motions. 

He opened his phone again, pulling up photos. The first two stared up at him, his cum-covered cock next to Eddie’s practically naked body. His dick twitched with arousal, and he swallowed hard. He was going to need a distraction, or several. He clicked over to his contacts, shooting a message to his dealer to bring by his usual order for him. If he was going to go on a bender, might as well do it the right way. And if it quieted those terrible voices in his head, well that made it a win/win, right? 

Well all voices except for one, one that he knew he’d never be able to get out of his head now that he had heard it. Eddie’s voice rang in his ears. 

_ Beep-Beep, Richie.  _

  
  


Across town, Eddie made it back home. Luckily, it looked like Myra was still out of the house, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t bothered to let Myra know that he was coming home early, so she had most likely left for her errands—and Eddie was not going to complain about having the house to himself for an indeterminate amount of time.

Eddie had messaged Steve earlier about Richie not feeling well, and from the tone of his reply, it seemed like Steve’s day had just become a lot more stressful. A part of him felt bad for the guy, but a larger portion was relatively glad for the unexpected day off.

He thought back to Richie, and the state he was in. Seeing him in that mess of a home, obvious signs of drug use, left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth. Granted, he wasn’t the first celebrity he’s worked for who was a user, and he most certainly wouldn’t be the last. Cocaine and other hard drugs are very common within those circles, so why was he feeling so disturbed by the thought of Richie partaking? What made him different from all his other clients? And why did Eddie care so much?

Shedding his coat, he sat down by his computer with a groan, booting it to life. All this time spent with Richie had put him behind on some of his paperwork. After about an hour of going through assignments of his drivers, payroll, and viewing reports of various maintenance requests for some of the vehicles in his fleet, Eddie found himself at a loss of things to do. 

A thought creeped into his brain at that point, one that he had been ignoring for a few days now. But there he has, sitting at his computer with nothing to do, and he had the sudden urge to find out more about his new client. Typically, Eddie rarely took interest in his clients’ work, and didn’t seek it out unless he had seen it prior to their meeting. Looking things up about the celebrities he drove around felt creepy and stalker-ish, in his opinion. 

But the impulse was becoming too great, and Eddie decided to just go for it. Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he typed  _ Richie Tozier _ into the Google Search. His computer was old, but it still worked just fine so he refused to replace it. He was regretting that decision while he waited impatiently for the page to load, wondering how much it would cost for a much-needed upgrade. 

After a few unbearably slow moments of loading, various news articles popped up. Some were trashy tabloid articles, talking about various women Richie had publicly entertained over the years. Some were reviews on his different standup specials and movies; there were even a few interviews with people like Jimmy Kimmel and Conan O’Brien.  _ Oh wow, he was on  _ Saturday Evening On-Air? Eddie took a moment to scroll through Richie’s various works, fairly impressed on the rather long list of projects he’s had under his belt. 

Finally, curiosity overcame him, and he found himself opening a tab to YouTube and typing ‘Richie Tozier Standup’ in the search bar. He was more than surprised to see just how well known he really was. Eddie had no idea who this man was before he started driving for him, but it seemed like he had quite the longstanding career. 

A playlist titled  _ Trashmouth’s standup _ caught his eye, and he did not hesitate to click on it. From what it looked like, the playlist was a long collection of Richie’s standup routines over the years, in chronological order. Before he could have another thought to reconsider, his hand already clicked on the first video listed.

As the video began, the feed showed what looked like a seedy dive bar, the camera trained onto a small stage in a corner, with a mic stand in the middle. 

All of the sudden, a scrawny young man who didn’t look a day over 20 walked on stage, taking the mic. As the man raised his head, Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as he could see the very recognizable square lenses of Richie, clearly in his college days. He had long hair back then, looked like it could reach his shoulders, but Eddie couldn’t quite tell as his hair was in a messy ponytail. His face was clean shaven, no stubble in sight. At least his fashion sense never changed, still wearing hideous hawaiian shirts with random t-shirts underneath. 

As Richie began his routine, Eddie realized how genuinely funny he was. He found himself laughing out loud practically during the entire video, his belly aching by the end of it from the exertion. The comedic timing was on point, the delivery absolutely genius, and the writing was so clever, so smart, so  _ Richie. _ He found himself captivated the whole time, appreciating just how effortlessly Richie brought in his audience, the spectators holding onto his every word. He saw this man on a daily basis, but he had never seen him this at ease, this genuine. It made him wonder just where did things change?

He decided to look at another video, this time it looked like the stage was at a small theatre. Richie came out, yet another tacky short-sleeve button-up and t-shirt combo. From the introduction, it sounded like he was doing a show at a small college campus. 

And just like the last one, he was practically on the floor laughing the whole set, tears developing in his eyes from his mirth. 

There Eddie sat for the rest of his afternoon, going through each video. He did not realize how with each consecutive video, his laughter became less and less, cackles turning to giggles, giggles turning to chuckles, until he eventually wasn’t laughing at all. 

He came across one of the last videos, from what it looks like it was only a few years old. The video began with the typical introduction, and a visibly older Richie—closer to how Eddie knew him now—walked onstage, waving to the filled auditorium of people who bought a ticket. 

Just with the first icebreaker, Eddie knew something was different. This didn’t sound like Richie at all. The tone was all wrong. The delivery was garbage, and the writing had been downgraded to unintelligent dudebro humor. Even Richie looked like he wasn’t enjoying himself anymore. The shit-eating grin Eddie had come to know was gone, and what replaced it was an awkward deadpan voice of a man who no longer cares. The audience didn’t seem to notice, as the large theatre was filled with laughter regardless, but Eddie could see that something changed. 

This wasn’t Richie’s writing at all, this wasn’t his material. A scowl slowly took form on his face as he continued to sit through the set, cringing with each bad punchline, getting increasingly frustrated with the audience that clearly had terrible taste. Where was the outcry? Where were the real fans to call him out on this bullshit? Eventually he could watch no more, clicking out of the video with a huff. He glared at the screen for a moment, thoroughly disappointed in the degradation in quality that he had just witnessed. Richie had started out so strong, it was no wonder he had risen to fame so quickly. Eddie was shocked he had never paid him any attention before, but then again, he wasn’t one to just sit around and watch TV—it was bad for the eyes. 

Eddie shut his computer down, face still set into a deep frown as he left his office and made his way to the master bathroom of their townhome. Pulling open the mirror above the sink, he revealed a heavily-stocked medicine cabinet, packed to the gills with prescriptions of various sizes. He instinctively reached for a bottle, moving almost robotically as he removed the lid and shook out a round, white tablet. He dry swallowed the Valium, barely feeling it as it slid down his throat. 

Closing the mirrored door, he took a moment to examine his face. The dark circles under his eyes were not ideal, and there was a patch of dry skin under his chin that had been irritating him all morning. Eddie reached into a drawer beside the sink, retrieving a prescription moisturizing cream. He carefully dabbed it on the spot, massaging it in. He stared at himself for a long while, glaring into his own eyes; his thoughts were still on that terrible standup, still affronted and downright offended at how bad it was. He considered the first video he had watched, how easily Richie had commanded and entertained that audience. Eddie then remembered the seemingly never-ending filmography section on the Richie Tozier Wikipedia page, and knew that there more than a few available to watch on a number of streaming services Myra had subscribed to. 

Eddie power-walked to the other side of the house, grabbing the remote to their 73” Samsung SmartTV and pulling up Netflix. He searched Richie’s name for the third time that day, a small grin finally coming to his face when he saw a number of movies that populated. He clicked the first one, a comedy called  _ UberAwful,  _ about a trio of teens trying to lose their virginity at some high school party. It wasn’t really Eddie’s cup of tea, and he didn’t see Richie anywhere anyway so he was just about to shut it off, when he saw him: there Richie was, playing a very unprofessional cop. A very  _ hot _ , unprofessional cop. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he set the remote down, now very engrossed in the movie he had just written off as cheesy and a little dated. 

Eddie fastfowarded through most of the movie after that, stopping only to watch whenever he saw Richie on screen. Seeing him in that uniform was doing  _ something  _ to him—maybe it was the calming effects of the Valium; or maybe it was how much fun it looked like Richie was having, how one of his eyes crinkled a little more than the other when he laughed; or maybe it was the fact that he just looked damn  _ good  _ in that uniform. He was so absorbed in the movie that he didn’t hear the front door open, and he jolted violently when his wife burst into the room, calling out: 

“Oh my Eddie-bear!!! What are you doing home so early!!” It was more of a statement than a question. 

Before Eddie could answer the non-question, she launched into a story about her day and the various issues she had to overcome while running errands all day. Eddie’s eyes immediately glazed over as he nodded every now and then, tuning her out completely per usual. His eyes kept training over to the movie that he had somehow paused perfectly on Richie’s laughing face, hungrily taking in the sight of him dressed as a cop. 

“What are you watching, Eddie-bear?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Eddie, are you alright? Do you have a temperature?” 

The feeling of his wife’s warm, plump hand on his forehead slammed him back to reality, and he recoiled from her touch. 

“Myra, I’m fine—” 

“You don’t look very well, dear!” Myra’s shrill voice barrelled over his own. “Did you take your medications today?” 

“Yes—” 

“How’s your stomach? Do you have a headache?” she drilled him with questions, catching him off guard. 

“I feel fine—”

“I stopped by the pharmacy, I saw your Sumatriptan was running low, and I felt it better to be safe than sorry! I don’t want my Eddie-bear to have migraines!” 

“....Thank you dear,” was all Eddie could say at that point. There was no use in trying to get a word in when she got riled up like that. 

Myra continued to fuss over Eddie: taking his temperature, counting his pills into his weekly organizer, going over what he needed to be sure to take before bed.  _ As if I haven’t been taking the same medication every night for the last decade and a half,  _ Eddie thought bitterly to himself, not sure how long he could take her incessant nagging. At this point, though, he knew there was no fighting Myra—she would get her way one way or another. It was easier to just put his head down and do what she wanted, otherwise she was known to become...difficult, to say the least. 

After a while, after Myra finally seemed satisfied that he would live to see another day, she left Eddie to his own devices. She busied herself in the kitchen, humming loudly to herself as she prepared Eddie’s dairy-free, gluten-free, rice-free, sucrose-free, and fat-free dinner of boiled, unsalted chicken, and plain mashed potatoes. 

As Myra started on dinner, Eddie resumed the movie, turning the volume down so as to not alert her. He resumed his viewing of Richie In A Uniform: The Movie. The more he watched, the more invested he became. Heart fluttering every time his client was on the screen, an embarrassed smile lighting up his face with his antics. If there was one thing to be said about Richie Tozier, he sure knew how to commit to a role. 

Once that film ended, he clicked on the next one on the recommended list:  _ Speedster.  _ It didn’t take long to see Richie appear on screen, in what looked like a long wig and a visor. The image itself made him almost lose it, it took all his strength not to choke on his own spit in laughter, a sound which would surely alert a worried Myra. The humor in this seemed similar to the previous one, so Eddie didn’t really pay attention to what was going on in the movie; all he focused on was Richie. Was he really finding him  _ this  _ attractive in a greasy looking wig and animal-print shirts? He imagined running his fingers through that long hair, what it would be like to pull on it.

The thought made his chest warm and his breath deepened, a sensation that scared Eddie as much as it enthralled him. He scanned through the movie, only interested in seeing Richie’s scenes. As distasteful as the humor was, Eddie got through the whole movie, and it seemed like just in time. Right before he was just about to click on the next one on the search results: a more recent work named  _ Bone Structure Siblings _ —Richie was right in the cover art so he must have starred in this one. Then Myra called out his name, signaling that dinner was ready. With a slight groan, he walked over to the dining room to take his seat. Eddie surveyed the plate of bland looking mush with mild revulsion.

“Thank you, Myra,” Eddie said softly. 

He shoveled the food in his mouth, not bothering to taste anything; the act was purely mechanical, putting nourishment in his body that he knew he needed to live. Washing the unsalted chicken down with water, he picked up his empty plate, and wordlessly left it in the sink, not bothering to acknowledge Myra.

“Just leave the dishes in the sink and I’ll wash them later,” Myra called out. “I know how you’re allergic to the dish soap, dear!” 

Eddie knew he wasn’t—otherwise, he’d have a reaction every time they ate—but he wasn’t going to argue. He had other things on his mind.  _ Like watching that movie. _

“Myra I’ll be in my office, I still have some work to do.”

“Don’t forget to wear your UV Light glasses! You know how much that computer screen hurts your eyes!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget,” Eddie replied hastily.

He closed the door to his study, and locked the door so as to not be disturbed. 

Booting up his computer once more, he opened up Netflix and logged in, typing in  _ Bone Structure Siblings  _ into the search. 

It was the first one listed, and Eddie couldn’t help but mentally comment on how soft his hair looked on the cover. He noted the different tone of the synopsis compared to the last two. The movie was drastically different from the other two films he had skimmed through: it was a drama, with Richie as one of the titular characters. He had ample screen time in this one, delivering a genuine and heart-wrenching performance in a role that had Eddie completely captivated; he was playing a very gay man, an out and proud one at that. This was the last kind of a role he would have expected from Richie Tozier, especially considering the neverending list of raunchy, stoner comedies he had under his belt. 

Eddie let the movie play straight through this time, actually interested in the plot and enthralled by Richie’s incredible acting, displaying a range that surprised him to no end. No wonder this guy was such a hot shot, at this point even Eddie couldn’t deny that his talent was immeasurable. And handsome. And funny. Did he mention talented? He grew distracted for a moment, thoughts straying to a reality where he and  _ this _ version of Richie met, maybe had a drink or two, maybe went home together, maybe did a lot more. 

_ “...and you should know this since we're now related, Lance. I was looking for some  _ cock.”

Hearing those words come out of Richie’s mouth did two things to Eddie: brought him crashing back to reality, and sent a rush of blood straight down to his groin, and he was mortified to feel himself stiffen slightly as a result. He hurriedly pressed the spacebar, pausing the movie and looking down at himself. Yep, he was getting hard alright. And it was all thanks to Richie Tozier saying that he was looking for cock. 

Eddie’s breath hitched and he tried to take a deep breath. His throat, however, had closed up to the size of a pinhole, and he was unable to fill his lungs. He gasped for air, heart racing furiously and somehow further exacerbating the problem he was experiencing down south. His inhaler was in its spot in his medicine cabinet, and he would have to pass through their room to get to it. He didn’t dare risk Myra catching him in this state, lest she somehow came to the conclusion that he was trying to initiate intercourse—something he was very much  _ not _ trying to do. 

He closed his eyes, counting sets of four in his head, trying to breath in time with the steady rhythm. After a few agonizing moments, his throat opened up again to allow a nice, big gulp of air. The Richie on the screen stared up at him, frozen in his horny declaration. Eddie’s pants were uncomfortably tight, and he decided then that it was time for a cold shower and then bed. 

He shut down his computer, immediately standing and taking to try to rearrange himself and hide his semi-erection. He hated to think about the long line of questions that would follow if Myra got even a glimpse of what he was trying to hide behind his hands. He made a silent prayer, hoping to God that she would stay asleep. 

Before he could take a step out of his home-office, Eddie’s phone buzzed on his desk.  _ Who the hell is that?  _ he thought, annoyed. _ It’s almost 2 AM.  _

His lock screen showed that Richie had sent him a photo. Intrigued, he swiped it open, almost dropping his phone when he saw what it was. He caught it in the last second, pulling the screen close to his face to be sure he was seeing right, potential vision issues be damned. It was clearly a picture Richie had taken himself, cock in his hand, a thick trail of semen spilling out over his hands and leaking onto the hair growing around his groin. Eddie’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth was suddenly bone dry. 

Another message came from Richie: 

_ Yo i neeeed a ride home can u pick me upp pls ur the best edie spahgettii _

Eddie's breath was suddenly shallow again.  _ What in the actual fuck, Richie? This has to be a mistake.  _ He didn’t even know how he was supposed to respond to that. His erection was nearly full now, the outline more and more obvious through his pants. And with that little surprise Richie had sent him, the pressure was only getting worse, making his toes curl. 

He responded quickly:  _ Where are you? _

_ Uhhhh ithink theres a mcdolands across the street im outside the bar neer the office  
  
_

His phone buzzed with a double text: 

_ im colllldddd edieee pls hurryyyyyyy _

Feeling the frustration rise in him, Eddie took a deep breath. It was part of their contract that Eddie may be available to drive Richie at any given time; if he didn’t get him right then, he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it from the comedian, and he wouldn’t put it past the guy to blow up his phone with more drunk messages (and quite possibly more lewd photos). The last thing he needed was for Myra to see his phone beeping off the hook. 

_ Send me your location on maps and I’ll be there soon _

A few moments later he got a message showing Richie’s location. _ Thank God for technology,  _ Eddie thought to himself as he hurried to the coat closet in the hall. He grabbed the thickest jacket he had, trying his best to hide his crotch as he basically ran for the door. He was just thinking he might make it out without Myra noticing him leaving, when her voice broke through the silence of the house: 

“Eddie-dear, where are you going?” 

Almost jumping out of his skin, Eddie looked over and saw Myra emerge from the living room.  _ What the hell is she still doing up?  _

Eddie racked his brain as quick as he could, trying to think of a good excuse that would let him out that door with no questions asked by his wife. 

“Uhhh, one of my drivers just called—there’s an emergency with one of the limos, I have to go and take care of it.” 

“Well, can’t it wait until morning?” Myra pouted, crossing her short arms. “It’s so late already, you need to come to bed, and it’s  _ so cold _ outside!” 

“I’m sorry Myra, but it can’t wait. And I have this big jacket you bought me to keep me warm, so I’ll be ok.” He patted the quilted coat, and the reminder of the gift seemed to satisfy Myra enough to let him leave. Her pout, however, remained grumpily as Eddie slipped out from the warm embrace of their home and into the cold street of New York. 

Jumping into his car, he sped out of his driveway, the pressure in his loins subsiding as he focused on following the GPS to wherever the fuck Richie was. Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was too far from whatever bar his client was sending unsolicited dick pics from. 

It took a total of seventeen minutes of driving to finally see a familiar figure lounging on the curb, in front of one of seediest bars Eddie had ever seen. He parked on the street, not bothering to fill the meter. He jogged towards Richie, who at this point was leaning back on a fire hydrant, stretching out lazily with his shit eating grin very much visible on his face.

“EDDIIIEEEE!” he yelled, body swaying dangerously as he threw his arms up in excitement. “You really came for meeeeeee!” 

Eddie’s face went completely red; seeing Richie immediately brought his mind back to the illicit photo he was sent. Nevermind the fact that he had actually saved it, something he was determined to take to his grave. Seeing the state that Richie was in, however, had convinced him that it was obviously a mistake. He probably meant to send that to someone else—maybe one of those girlfriends he’d seen in the internet tabloids. Yeah, that made whole lot more sense, more sense than sending a dick pic to your 40-year-old, male driver. 

“Richie, what are you doing here?” he reprimanded, one hand on his hip as the other swung through the air irritably. “I thought you were resting at home, weren’t you taking a sick day?” 

“I got borrreedddd—errRUUPP—so I came here for a drink, or a few. Hahaha, I know the guy—the bartender. He sneaks me free shots! But I think they went overboard, and they cut me off—oops.” Richie giggled, snorts coming from the man. His shoulders shook from his laughter, and he toppled over, laying down on the cold hard surface of the sidewalk. “Eddieeeee, my duuuude, could you take me hooomeee? I wanna go hoooome.”

Rolling his eyes at the antics of the overgrown child, Eddie responded, “I can’t believe you’d be this irresponsible, how old are you—16?” Eddie hosted an arm over his shoulder, struggling to pull the man up from the ground. He eventually got Richie on his feet, slowly walking toward his car. “Stop dragging your fucking feet! I’m not carrying you, asshole!”

“Aww, but with how buff you are, I bet you could bench press me _ no problem, _ ” Richie smirked gleefully, looking at Eddie with a dopey expression. “Come—c’mon Eddie, show me those big,  _ buff _ arms of yours.”

“I’m not showing you shit, except the inside of my car!” Eddie countered, the skin of his face burning, a stark contrast to the frigid air. 

He struggled to find his keys one-handedly, before finally locating the button to unlock the doors. He deposited Richie into the passenger’s side with a huff, and made his way into the driver seat. 

“Don’t go to sleep, I’m not carrying you inside,” Eddie warned as jammed the key into the ignition to start the car. 

Richie merely laughed, a raucous, infectious sound that managed to bring a smile to Eddie’s lips. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie-bear, I wouldn’t do that to you,” he slurred, hand fumbling with the seatbelt. “Was this thing always so  _ hard  _ to put on?”

Eddie shook his head, reaching over to grab the buckle. He could feel the heat emanating off of Richie as he stretched over him, and thought again of that movie, hearing Richie’s voice echo in his head,  _ “...I was looking for some cock.”  _ He pulled away quickly, buckling the seatbelt into place. 

“Whaaat I can’t believe you just, like,  _ did  _ that for me,” Richie crooned, body swaying closer to his driver. “You’re the  _ most nice  _ man I ever met. Even though you threw that coke on me. You’re so fucking nice dude.” 

“You’re drunk,” Eddie replied, the tips of his ears turning red. “Just sit still, and don’t you dare think about throwing up in my car.” 

“Sir yes sir!” 

Richie saluted him lazily, still laughing as Eddie pulled away from the curb. The driver was acutely aware of the other man as he continued to giggle to himself, watching the streets pass through the passenger window. Then Richie turned to him, fixing him with doleful eyes and a lopsided smile. 

“Eddie, my dude. My guy. Why the hell—how the fuck—URPPPP,” Richi’s burp interrupted his train of thought, and he waved his hand in front of his face. “Oh, gross.” 

“Gross is right,” Eddie agreed, wrinkling his nose and cracking open a window. “God, that smells horrible.”  


“My bad,” Richie snickered. “Guess I gotta make all this up to you, huh?” 

Eddie saw him waggle his eyebrows from the corner of his eyes, and swallowed thickly, hands tightening on the steering wheel. 

“You’re drunk,” he repeated, more to himself than to Richie. “Talk about over-serving.” 

“Oh my God, I’m so fucking  _ thirsty.  _ Do you have any water? Or a snack?” 

Richie opened the glove compartment, rifling through the sparse items. His face fell for a moment, crestfallen—before lighting up again. 

“Why would I keep food in my glovebox? We can stop somewhere on the way if you want—”

“Holy shit you never smoked it!” Richie’s exclamation cut him off, as he triumphantly held up the joint he had given Eddie the first day they met. “Oh  _ fuck _ yeah, this is gonna hit just right.”

He produced a lighter from his shirt pocket, placing the joint between his lips. Eddie snatched it out of his mouth, throwing it in the little compartment in the driver door. Richie’s jaw dropped in pure shock, before he threw Eddie the most sullen look he had ever seen, like a puppy who’s bone had been stolen.

“Don’t look at me like that. You are  _ not _ going to smoke drugs in my car.” 

“Weed isn’t  _ drugs,  _ man! C’mon, why d’you gotta be such a  _ squaaare?” _

“Stop calling me a square, what is this, the 1950’s?” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You can smoke that when you get home.” 

“Five bucks says you're too chicken to smoke it with me,” Richie challenged with a smirk. 

“Five bucks is nothing.” 

“Fifty.” 

“Nope,” Eddie refused.   


“Five-hundred.” 

Eddie threw him a sideways glance as they stopped at a red light. 

“You would pay me five-hundred American dollars to smoke some marijuana with you?” 

“I’d fucking—I’d do—I’d pay you  _ five-thousand _ if it meant I got to hang out with High Eddie,” Richie answered, clapping him hard across the back. 

Eddie jolted at the contact, heart racing as a flustered grin spread across his face. 

“You’re crazy,” was all that he said. 

“So we got a deal?” Richie leaned toward him again, and Eddie could smell his cologne. It was musky and masculine, and he wanted to drown in the smell. 

“I’m not gonna take five-hundred dollars from you. I don’t need it.” 

_ “Oh, well excuuuuuse ME!” _ Richie yelled in a perfect Steve Martin impression that made Eddie jump in his seat. 

_ “Jesus Christ,  _ do you gotta yell while I”m driving?!” 

“Eddie, my man, you  _ always _ yell when you’re driving. See, this is—this is why you gotta just smoke some fuckin’ weed,” Richie insisted, arm still resting heavily across his back. “C’mon, cave into peer pressure.”

They were down the street from Richie’s condo now, and in his state, Eddie didn’t quite trust him to make it up by himself. He thought about going upstairs with Richie, being in his apartment again, smoking that joint. He recalled the way Richie had been just that morning, hungover and acting so strange, with that hollow smile that didn’t make it to his eyes. He thought about the cocaine scattered across Richie’s coffee table. Eddie didn’t like the idea of leaving Richie alone. Not like this. 

“Fine, I’ll take  _ one _ hit,” he surrendered, pulling up in front of Richie’s building. He grabbed the joint and put it in his pocket. “But that’s it. Then you gotta get to sleep.” 

“Eddie, you just—woooow—I’m the luckiest guy in the whole world.” Richie untangled himself from his seatbelt, stumbling out of the car. 

Eddie rushed out, worried Richie might fall again and not wanting to have to pick him up. 

“Yo, send the bill to Trashmouth Tozier,” the comedian called to the valet attendant, who nodded as he took the keys from Eddie. 

“I shouldn’t be too long,” Eddie said quickly, avoiding the man’s eyes as he nodded in response. 

Richie had already made his way into the building, and Eddie had to half-walk-half-jog to keep up with him. 

_ “Slow down,”  _ he hissed, finally catching up to him at the elevator.    


“Sorry, Eddie-bear, guess my legs are a little too long for ya,” Richie cooed, running his hand in a mock-seductive fashion up the side of his thigh. 

“We can’t all be giants like you,” Eddie grumbled, feeling his face grow somehow even hotter. Drunk Richie was going to be the  _ end  _ of him. 

They finally made it up to Richie’s condo, and Eddie had to help him open the lock. The apartment was in a similar state of disarray as it had been when he had last been there. Richie practically ran to the fridge, grabbing the case of beer Eddie had seen in the morning. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, taking a hesitant seat on the couch. He tried not to stare at the coke that was still lying out on the coffee table, focusing instead on his jacket as he shed it and placed it neatly beside him. 

“What? You gotta—you need to catch up.” 

Richie tossed him a can, placing the cardboard case on the coffee table before opening one for himself. 

“I shouldn’t drink.” Eddie placed the can on the table. “I still need to drive home.” 

“Whatever, I’ll call you an Uber or something.” Richie grabbed the can and opened it, pressing the cold aluminum back into his hand. 

“Are you kidding? Those guys almost put me out of business,” Eddie grumbled, surveying the beer. “Whatever.” 

He took a long drink, feeling Richie’s eyes on him as he placed it back on the coffee table. 

“What are you staring at, Trashmouth?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed. 

“Why do you gotta be so fucking  _ cute _ , man?” Richie demanded, shaking his head. “Like, the fuck?” 

“Quit calling me cute,” Eddie argued, not realizing how the pout that appeared on his face would only egg Richie on even more. 

“Why  _ noooot?  _ You’re so fucking adorable it should be a crime!” Richie giggled, his eyes fixated on Eddie’s lower lip.

“Are you lighting this up? Or are we gonna keep calling a grown ass man ‘cute’ and shit?” Eddie countered, presenting the joint. 

“You drive a hard bargain, amigo! Cause I could do either  _ aaaaaallll dayyyyy.” _

Eddie rolled his eyes and snatched the lighter from Richie’s hand. Sticking the joint between his lips, he struggled to ignite it, his hands shaking more than he cared to admit. He had never consumed marijuana in his life, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. But hell would freeze over before he gave Richie even one more ounce of ammo to use to tease him. 

After flicking the lighter unsuccessfully multiple times, Richie’s hand covered his own, surprising him a little. Eddie peered up at Richie to meet his slightly hooded eyes, a gentle smile on his face. Eddie gulped at just how close Richie was to him at this point; if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel Richie’s breath on his nape.

Richie took the lighter from Eddie’s hands, and with a quick flick of his finger, lit the joint. Eddie forgot to take a inhale once it was lit, his attention trained onto Richie—his clouded eyes, the red on his face from the alcohol, his slightly chapped lips. 

“You gotta take a hit Eddie, before it goes out,” Richie whispered, the roughness of his low tone rudely re-awakening the earlier tension below his belt. 

Eddie took a deep drag on the joint, immediately thrown into a coughing fit as the heat of the smoke hit the back of his throat. Each cough sent the smoke deeper into his lungs, and the coughing only got worse and worse with every hacking breath. 

“Ahh the sounds of a greenie.” Richie mused, his voice still slurring. He rubbed Eddie’s back, trying to sooth the man’s cough. “Next time don’t inhale so much. Don’t want you getting clown lung on your first Devil’s lettuce experience.” 

Richie giggled for a moment, face falling when Eddie didn’t catch his breath. 

“Oh, fuck—dude, are you okay?” 

Eddie’s breathing became a high-pitched whistle and he struggled to inhale, joint nearly falling from his fingertips as he doubled over. Richie took it from him, putting it out on a nearby ashtray. Eddie’s face was flushed a deep red, one hand reaching for his throat as he continued to struggle to steady his breath. 

“Eddie—Eds, holy shit, just breathe, man.”

“My— _ ack, ack _ —inhale— _ ack, ACK _ —inhaler,” Eddie choked, pointing to his jacket. 

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Richie muttered as he fumbled with the bulky jacket, shoving his hand in all the pockets he could find. “I don’t see any inhaler, dude.  _ Shit.”  _

“Oh— _ ACK, ACK _ — _ fuck _ — _ ACK, ACK, ACK!” _

Eddie realized he had left his spare in his other jacket, the pinhole in his throat threatening to cut off all breath as he continued to choke and hack. As hard as he tried, he could not get his breathing under control, and the edges of his vision were beginning to blur—from the weed or lack of oxygen, he couldn’t be sure. Richie was speaking again, but his words sounded like they were coming from a tin can, all garbled and unrecognizable. Eddie blinked slowly, black spots beginning to form in front of his eyes as he spluttered. 

Richie’s hands were suddenly on either side of his face, warm and grounding. His eyes found his own, holding him in a steadfast gaze. His own hand shot up to grip Richie’s straining wrists, desperate for the contact. His mouth was still moving, and Eddie forced his hazy brain to focus on the words that he was saying: 

“...come on, Eds, just breathe in, just breathe with me, you’re gonna be okay,” Richie was pleading ardently, brows drawn together in deep concern. 

“I’m fucking— _ ACK, ACK, ACK _ —trying— _ ACK _ —dickwad!” 

“You got this, just—just follow my breathing.  _ Look at me.  _ Fuck, Eds, I didn’t realize—look, you can do this. If you get through this I’ll do—I’ll fucking—I’ll tell you a secret.” 

“A— _ ACK, ACK _ — _ what?”  _

The taller man’s hands were still fiercely gripping the side of his face, and Eddie could see his chest rising and falling steadily. He tried to calm himself, gulping air in time with Richie’s breathing. It took a moment, but his throat finally seemed to open again, allowing air to rush back into his aching lungs. 

“That’s right, just—just don’t stop looking at me, you got this Eds,” Richie reassured him, one thumb tenderly stroking his left cheekbone. 

As he slowly regained his breath, Eddie was suddenly very aware of how close they were, foreheads merely inches from each other, his fingers still encircling Richie’s wrists. He pulled his hands back into his lap quickly as he tore his eyes away sheepishly. 

“You alright, man?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie lied. 

“You scared me half to  _ death,”  _ Richie nearly yelled, pulling away and clapping his hands to his own face. “Jesus  _ Christ.  _ I need a hit after that.” 

He reached over to grab the joint that had gone out, placing it between his lips and lighting it up again to take a long drag. Despite his second brush with death in two days, Eddie’s eyes glazed over in what could only be described as sheer, unadulterated desire as he watched Richie place his lips where his own was just moments before. He watched with absolute attention as Richie inhaled, and then slowly exhaled with practice. Sitting right there, Eddie could say with absolute certainty that there was never an image more serene, more fucking breathtaking than the image before him. 

“Maybe I should just shotgun it to you instead,” Richie suggested, fiddling with the joint. “It won’t—it shouldn’t hit as hard.” 

“What’s that?” Eddie sounded hesitant, wondering when the lights in the condo had become so bright, so twinkling. 

“You’ll see. Just breathe in,  _ slowly  _ this time.” Richie smirked, taking another deep hit. 

And then Richie leaned over, lips hovering less than an inch from Eddie’s as he exhaled the smoke into his mouth. Eddie’s eyes shot open in shock, but he took a gradual, deep breath to allow it to rush into his lungs—a lot smoother than his first, painful hit.

“Ok, now hold it in for a second!” Richie instructed before Eddie could breathe out. “Ok, that’s good.” 

Eddie exhaled, the cloud of smoke dissipating in the air before him. He only coughed once. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, huh?” Richie took another puff, and Eddie could only nod in agreement, still amazed by how casually Richie had practically  _ kissed  _ him, like it was nothing. 

He peered over at his client, who was downing the last of his beer. At this point, the effects of the weed were very much beginning to take hold. The ever-present tension in his shoulders faded away as he melted into the couch. He thought he could see whole galaxies in the sky outside of the condo’s floor-to-ceiling windows—but that couldn’t be, because they were in New York City, and he could barely ever see the stars at night, much less entire galaxies. But there they were, bright and multicolored, and  _ beautiful.  _ God, this was great. Eddie felt fucking  _ good.  _ His almost-asthma attack was already a distant memory.

His eyes hazily trained themselves back to Richie, who was offering him that dopey grin again. He followed a small drop of beer that had escaped, trailing down Richie’s neck, sliding down his Adam's apple, and landing on his jacket. He swayed in place as he stared at the stubble covering his throat, wondering what it would feel like against his own skin. Probably like sandpaper.  _ Sexy  _ sandpaper. The only kind of sandpaper that would get his dick hard. He suddenly remembered Richie in that cop uniform, and a small, giddy laugh bubbled out of his mouth. 

“Ha, what—what’s so funny, Eds?” 

“Not my name.” Eddie was grinning. “Why do you call me that?”

“Why does your wife call you ‘Eddie-bear?’” A frown was beginning to form on Richie’s face, and Eddie grimaced. 

“I guess she thinks it’s cute or something,” he answered morosely. That good feeling was beginning to wane. “Can we not talk about Myra?” 

“Sure thing, Eddie-spaghetti.” 

“Oh my God, spaghetti sounds fucking  _ delicious _ right now.” 

Richie burst out laughing then, so hard and loud that tears began forming at corners of his eyes. 

“Fuck man, you’re  _ high,”  _ he choked between wheezes, nearly doubled over in his mirth. 

“What? No, I’m not. Not high. Am I?” Eddie began to laugh, too, resting his head in one hand. “Oh, fuck. I think I am.” 

“Congratulations, Eduardo. You’re no longer a square.” Richie cracked open another beer, taking several deep drinks. “You—you’re a cool kid, now—UURRRRP!” 

Eddie drained the rest of his own beer, blinking blearily when the room began to tilt. He steadied himself on the couch, dropping the empty beer can to the floor. The ground seemed to be breathing beneath him, and Richie’s laughter suddenly sounded so far away. He swallowed thickly, trying to focus on the words coming out of the comedian’s mouth, but once again unable to understand what he was saying. 

“Rich…” he started, tongue heavier than a cinder block.

“You good?” 

Eddie could suddenly comprehend words again. 

“Yeah, man. I just—I think I’m fucking high. Like you were in that movie  _ Mango Speedway.” _

“Whaaat? There’s no way you’ve seen  _ Mango Speedway.” _ Richie's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. 

“I mean I didn’t watch the whole thing,” Eddie went on, eyes half closed. “Just the beginning where you were smoking the pot and they said it was illegal. But I don’t understand.  _ Why is this illegal?”  _

“So, you just watched it for me?” Richie’s voice was full of a joy and excitement that surprised Eddie. 

“I guess so, yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“Oh Eds, you sure know how to flatter a lady,” Richie said in a classic Southern Belle voice. “And here I thought you were above stoner comedies.” 

“I wasn’t trying to stroke your ego,” Eddie rolled his eyes, reaching for another beer. 

“I got something you can stroke,” Richie snickered with a suggestive smirk, shifting his crotch for added effect as he took another hit from the joint that was still burning. 

Eddie froze, thoughts immediately consumed by the picture that must have been sent to him by mistake. His eyes landed on Richie’s groin, and he could practically see the outline of his dick behind the fabric of his pants. The warmth that had been steadily pooling in his gut grew to a dull fire, and he felt his cock twitch in response. 

“So, uh, what was that secret?” Eddie asked quickly, hastily trying to change the subject.

“Huh?”

“Your secret. You said you were gonna tell me a secret.” 

“Oh—fuck, I didn’t think you were gonna take that seriously,” Richie admitted, offering Eddie the joint. 

“Well, you almost killed me— _ again, _ I might add—the least you can do is follow through,” Eddie insisted. 

“I dunno Eds, can I—can I trust you? You can’t tell  _ no one _ .” He puffed deeply on the joint, before placing it on the ashtray. 

“Of course, who am I gonna tell?” Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“I dunno, the press. Your wife.” 

Eddie offered a wry smile. 

“There’s an NDA in our contract,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, your secret’s safe with me.” 

“How romantic.” 

“Are you gonna tell me or not?” Eddie was growing impatient. He picked up his second beer and took a good drink. 

Richie took a moment to try to come up with some kind lie—a good fake secret that would placate his driver—when his drunk, traitorous mouth moved without his permission: 

“I  _ really  _ want to suck your cock.” 

Eddie choked then, droplets of beer spraying out of his mouth in his shock. Richie clapped him on the back, taking the beer that threatened to fall from his hand and setting it on the table as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“You’re not—you gotta be joking,” Eddie eventually replied, face beet red as he stared at the flecks of foam he had coughed onto the coffee table. He tried to ignore the blood that rushed directly to his groin, leaning over in an attempt to hide his instant erection at Richie’s drunken confession. He suddenly wished that he wasn’t so high, desperate for a moment of clarity.

“Oh, fuck, man I—I’m so sorry,” Richie slurred, clearly not noticing Eddie’s dilemma. “I shouldn’t have said anything, aw, fuck. Yeah, it was just a joke—a stupid, f-fucking joke.” 

“Didn’t sound like a joke.” Eddie’s voice was low. “I’ve heard your jokes, and that wasn’t one of them.” 

Richie shifted closer to Eddie, their knees brushing together. Eddie was suddenly aware of how the man loomed over him, and stiffened at the thought. He had never gotten a blowjob in his life; Myra refused, not that he had ever bothered to ask. Other than that, the opportunity had never really presented itself. What he would give to have Richie between his legs, Eddie’s hand buried in his long hair while his lips wrapped around his cock. His eyes landed once again on Richie’s mouth, and for one heart-stopping moment he realized that fantasy could be minutes away from entering reality. 

“Well, uh, I guess you caught me,” Richie’s voice dropped, and a shiver ran up Eddie’s spine.

He could feel Richie’s breath on his forehead now, one of his large hands dropping to rest heavily on his thigh. Eddie felt a thrill in that touch that he had never felt before in his life, and he didn’t want it to stop. And before he could make another move, Richie’s hand was on his chin, tilting his head up to press his lips against his own. Eddie’s eyes shot wide open for a second, before his arms reached up to wrap around the taller man’s neck, pulling him closer. 

All coherent thought left Eddie’s head as Richie kissed him, only able to focus on the feeling of Richie’s stubble scratching against his chin, the taste of Richie’s breath—an overpowering mix of weed and beer and whiskey, a scent that was decidedly  _ male _ . His heart was a jackhammer in his chest, pumping even more blood to his throbbing erection. Richie’s hand moved from his chin to grasp one side of his neck, his warmth spreading like shockwaves from where he touched him. The kiss was a sloppy affair, all tongue and teeth clashing against each other in their desperation. 

It was a few good moments before they pulled away, chests heaving. Richie’s hand was still on his throat, and at this point there was no use in Eddie even trying to hide his stiffened cock. Richie’s eyes roamed over him in a way that no one’s ever had before, and it was enough to make Eddie feel dizzy. 

“Y-you don’t know how  _ long _ I’ve wanted to do that,” RIchie breathed, fingers squeezing his thigh in his excitement. “Holy  _ fuck.”  _

“ _ Fuck  _ is right…” All Eddie could do at that moment was catch his breath, his heart still deafening his ears. Never in his life had he thought the night would end like this. The taste of Richie-fucking-Trashmouth-Tozier on his lips, and the only thing in his mind was that he wanted more,  _ needed _ to taste more of this man. 

“Ha, I can’t believe—Steve was wrong this  _ whole  _ time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, he thought you hated the gays—not sure where he got that idea.” Richie let out a sigh, leaning his head down on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie looked down at the comedian’s head, enthralled at how warm he was. Richie’s hand rested heavily on his thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles. 

They sat there for a while, dimly basking in each other's presence for the moment, the joint and their beers left forgotten on the coffee table. It wasn’t until Eddie’s phone buzzed in his pocket, that they were brought back to Earth from the soothing silence. Eddie knew exactly who was texting him so late, and he desperately wanted to ignore it. He was drunk  _ and  _ stoned for the first time in his life, and Richie’s head was nestled into the nape of his neck, and he smelled  _ so  _ good and—

The buzzing continued, and Richie couldn’t help but notice it with how close they were. 

“You wanna get that?”

“Not really.”

“Who would be hitting you up this late anyway?” Richie sat up and grabbed a bottle from the floor, trying to knock it back before realizing it was empty. 

“Myra,” Eddie muttered. The thought of his wife—who two seconds ago was the furthest from his mind while he received the most mind blowing kiss of his life—sobered him up slightly. “I should message her. Fuck, man, I definitely can’t drive like this.”

Richie’s face set in a frown, reminding himself that he was indeed making the moves on a very much  _ married  _ man. At the same time, however, the thought of Eddie leaving him that night was absolutely unbearable. Especially if would be going home to someone like Myra, who Richie was liking less and less by the minute. So he decided, against his better judgement, to say something.  _ Fuck it, we’re both blitzed as it is,  _ he convinced himself. 

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

“Ha ha,” Eddie laughed sarcastically, still staring down at his phone. “Very funny, Richie.”

“I mean it, just stay the night. You can go back home in the morning when you’re sober.” 

Richie settled his head back onto Eddie’s shoulder, the hand on his thigh slowly inching higher and higher. He wasn’t being exactly subtle, but he still hoped that Eddie caught his drift.

“She’s going to be furious with me, you don’t understand how she gets. She’ll make me sleep on the couch.” 

Eddie’s thumbs furiously tapped on his phone, typing and then deleting his message to Myra, trying to figure out the best way to go about it.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It is when you have back problems and she knows the couch aggravates it.”

“What the fuck?” Richie could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Who the fuck does that?”

“Why the fuck do you think I want to leave this shit marriage?” It took a moment for Eddie to realize he had said that out loud.  _ Fuck, I’m never smoking weed again. _

Richie mulled over what Eddie had just said, deciding then that he was not going to let Eddie go home that night. If he had his way, Eddie would never have to face Myra again, would never have to face how she treated him, how she belittled him.  _ Fuck that. _

“Just fucking—tell her there was a wreck or something...you know, traffic. I said you could just stay over. Tell her I didn’t want you to drive this late—or fuck it, tell her my couch is more comfortable.” Richie snickered at his own joke. 

Eddie contemplated doing just that. Did he really want to go back home? Did he want this surprisingly amazing night to end? 

No the fuck he did not.

Typing a quick message, Eddie sent it before he could overthink it. He put his phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into his pocket. 

“Fuck yeah! Sleepover!” Richie cheered.

The idea of staying in Richie’s place overnight, frightened Eddie immensely, but  _ excited  _ him at the same time. The implications alone, especially after Richie had just laid one on him like that. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was he really going through with this? The weed mixed with beer in his system told him:  _ Fuck it, just throw caution to the wind for once in your pathetic life, do something spontaneous.  _

He wanted to, God _ fuck _ did he want to, but the guilt of going behind Myra’s back—regardless of how miserable he was being under her thumb—was just too great, as horrible as she was to him. And then there was the simple fact that Richie’s kiss alone was enough to drive him  _ this wild _ —enough to have him making excuses to stay the night, enough to have him contemplating infidelity. The attraction was so intense, it scared him, and he didn’t want to dive in too fast to  _ whatever  _ this was.

And then Richie was kissing him again, harder this time, pushing him back into the couch with the force and interrupting his thoughts. One hand slipped under Eddie’s shirt, fingers splayed as they slid up his stomach. Eddie couldn’t stop the moan that left his mouth, nor could he stop his hips from bucking up slightly, desperate to find friction. The hand that had never left his thigh was traveling up to rub Eddie’s hardened cock through his pants. 

“I want you  _ so fucking bad,”  _ Richie muttered against his cheek, and Eddie thought that his heart would burst out of his chest with the force of its pounding. 

No one had ever talked to him like that, had never looked at him with so much pure desire. It was enough to render him speechless, not used to the attention. As much as Eddie wanted this—wanted Richie—he knew what they were doing was wrong on so many levels. He was married, and they were both so  _ very  _ intoxicated. Not to mention the fact that Richie was technically his employer. And they were both men. It was all a recipe for disaster if he’d ever heard of one.

Richie’s lips were at his neck now, sloppily kissing and biting and sucking a trail of fire down Eddie’s skin. He pushed up his shirt to continue that path downward, hands holding him in place as he lavished across the sculpted planes of his stomach. Eddie knew that they were seconds away from making a decision that could very well change the course of their lives, and also knew in that moment that he was not ready for it. He reached out and placed a firm hand on Richie’s shoulder, gently stopping his movements. 

“Richie, Rich. I—I can’t do this,” he admitted in a low, embarrassed voice. 

“Oh.” 

“Just—not tonight, not like this. You’re too drunk and I’m too high. It just—it wouldn’t be right.” 

Richie pulled away, leaning back into his side of the couch. His face was flushed, crotch bulging with arousal. 

“So, what I’m hearing is that if we were both sober, you’d be totally down to clown?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

_ “Not _ if you’re gonna call it that.” 

Richie threw him a suggestive wink, slinging an arm across his back. 

“I read you loud and clear, Eduardo. Next stop, Sober City. And after that, Bone Town.” 

“Oh my God. I take it all back.” 

“Too late! You can’t unkiss me!” 

The taller man stood, stretching his arms high into the air. His shirt lifted, allowing Eddie a short glimpse of the hairs traveling down his stomach, forcibly reminding him of the picture Richie had sent earlier in the night. He wasn’t so sure if that was an accident, after all. 

“Uh, is it ok if I take a shower?” Eddie asked awkwardly, acutely aware of his still neglected erection. Richie smirked and opened his mouth to answer, when he cut him off.  _ “Alone.”  _

“Wow, rude.” Richie laughed again at the stoney glare Eddie fixed him with. “Of course you can, Eddie-spaghetti, follow me.” 

Eddie stood clumsily, limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated. He followed Richie into his dark bedroom, heart racing when he saw the bed and all it implied. The taller man led him through the spacious room and into the master bathroom, which was surprisingly tidy considering the state of the living area. 

“Towels are in there. The hot water is the knob on the left.” 

Eddie swallowed thickly as he nodded. Richie stared at him expectantly for a moment, swaying slightly in his place. 

“Um, thanks. I’ll try not to take too long.” 

“No worries, take your time. I’ll, uh, be in my room.” 

And with that, Richie left him to his own devices, closing the door securely on the way out. Eddie let out a breath he did not realize he was holding, heart still racing. He was still trying to get a grip on the reality of the situation, still dizzy with the memory of Richie’s lips against his skin. He turned on the shower, seeming to float through space instead of walking. He undressed in a daze, observing himself in the mirror. There were dark marks blooming down his chest where Richie’s mouth had been, trailing all the way down the just below his belly button.His cock was unbearably hard at the memory, springing up and away from the dark coils of hair that grew at the base. The tip was flushed a dark red, a bead of precum forming in the slit in all of the excitement from the night. 

Richie, on the other hand, was stumbling around his dark room, feeling around for his bed. His shins painfully met the wooden side of it, and he collapsed onto the soft mattress, hissing to himself. The dull pain subsided, and all he could think of was Eddie in his bathroom, probably already naked, about to step into his shower. There was a lurch of arousal in his gut, blood already pulsing down below from their earlier embrace. One hand hastily undid his pants button, the other frantically searching his pockets for his phone. He clicked to his photos, staring down at the picture of Eddie’s beach day. His bleary mind was still in a haze, shellshocked that Eddie had returned his affection so fiercely. He remembered the way the shorter man had melted into his arms, how hard his cock had been through the thick material of his pants. The blood was throbbing in his own erection now, and he wanted nothing more than to burst back into the bathroom and take Eddie right then and there. He whimpered softly as he began to stroke himself.

Eddie rifled through the pocket of his pants, finding his phone and (after ignoring the plethora of missed calls and messages from Myra) immediately pulling up his saved photos. Richie’s dick pic was there, like it was waiting for him, taunting him from his screen. The real thing was in just the next room, and Eddie could have it right then if he really wanted. And he  _ really fucking wanted it.  _ His eyes caught the shine of his wedding ring. He yanked it off in disgust, placing it down on the bathroom counter along with his phone. 

One all-consuming thought blared in Richie’s drunken mind: he really wanted to taste Eddie’s cock. He wanted to choke on it, for Eddie to pull his hair and fuck his face. He wanted to please Eddie, to have him moaning his name with abandon. His hand was slick with precum as it slid across his shaft. He imagined Eddie, shining with sweat, the tip of his dick hitting the back of his throat with each thrust of his powerful hips, and had to suppress the loud moan that threatened to escape his mouth. 

Eddie stepped into the shower, letting the warm water rinse over his body, grounding him. He thought of Richie’s lips against his own, the smell of his cologne enveloping him as he drew Eddie close. He thought of Richie’s big hands, traveling over his body and holding him down. He thought of how Richie looked at him, with so much  _ desire  _ and  _ need.  _ He thought of how it had all felt so completely and irrevocably  _ correct,  _ even though it was the exact opposite of what nature had intended—as he had been told his whole life. 

His hand finally reached down to grasp his hardened cock, moving up and down in a steady rhythm as he thought of all these things, replaying the moments that had just transpired in his mind like a broken videotape. He imagined what might have happened had he not stopped Richie from continuing his journey downwards, what it would have felt like for Richie to give him his first blowjob, and he could practically feel Richie’s stubble between his thighs. He imagined surrendering himself to the comedian, to allow himself to explore a side of him that he had denied for his entire life. Every stroke of his hand across his cock sent shockwaves of pure pleasure coursing through Eddie like he had never felt before, and when he closed his eyes there were multicolored versions of Richie’s cock painted on the inside of his eyelids. 

Richie played back the moment they had shared, the way Eddie had pulled him closer when their lips met, the way his body responded to his touch. He held on to that moment for dear life, wishing so badly for Eddie to walk in and see him there, hand jerking up and down his exposed cock. Eddie would climb into bed with him then, all hot and bothered, ready to let Richie lay him down and treat him the way he deserved to be treated. His breath was becoming shallow now. All that separated him and the man he had been fantasizing about for the last week was a damn  _ door; _ it would be so easy to walk right through, and Eddie would surely be naked already, water dripping down his sculpted body. He imagined what his cock would look like, flushed and hard. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie, Eddie,  _ Eddie,”  _ he gasped, trying and failing to keep quiet. 

Eddie’s hips were moving now, pumping hard and fast into his own hand that he imagined was Richie’s mouth. Eddie suppressed a moan as he thought again of the picture Richie sent, as he fantasized about what all that cum would taste like, wondered how it would feel for Richie to shove his cock into his own mouth. He wanted Richie to have him on his knees, begging for more. He felt so  _ filthy _ , and he wanted it all so desperately. His breath grew short and ragged, hand flying wildly as the water beat down on him.

_ “Jesus fuck, Richie,”  _ he allowed himself to moan under his breath, hoping to God the sound of the water was enough to drown it out. He thought he would actually die if Richie caught him masturbating in his shower. 

Richie thought for a moment that he could hear Eddie calling his name and stopped for a moment. He could hear nothing but the sound of running water. His hand slowly began to move again, now fantasizing that Eddie was right on the other side of that door, filled with just as much desperation as he was. He would open the door and Eddie would be there, with a raging hard-on to match his own, eyes wanton and full of desire. He would take Eddie right there, bending him over and plowing into him like it was their last night on Earth. 

_ “Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” _ Richie tossed his head to the side to moan into his pillow.

Feeling the pressure rise, his hips becoming erratic as they chased release, Eddie bit down on the arm resting on the tiled wall to muffle his moans. 

“ _ Richie please,”  _ he cried out, imagining it was in fact the man—with whom he had recently experienced the best kiss of his life with—behind him, squeezing him, caressing him, making him feel the best he’s ever felt. He closed his eyes and could almost pretend the heat coming from the shower was actually the human furnace known as Richie Tozier. The thought of his heat radiating so close drove him wild. And standing there, in his shower and surrounded by all of his various hair and body products, the comedian’s scent was enveloping him, almost taunting him.

_ “Richie, oh god, fuck, Richie, Richie _ — _ ” _

_ “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please, oh shhhhit Eddieee _ — _ ” _

_ Faster, faster, more more more MORE _ —

Richie was so close, so fucking  _ CLOSE. _ He didn’t care how much his arm was cramping, didn’t care how his legs shook, he was so close to release, squeezing his red cock as it began to leak. His back arched off the bed, chasing that sweet elusive release, imagining Eddie just as ravished, just as wrecked, just as hard as he was.

Eddie’s mind finally went back one more time to that photo in his phone. Richie’s cock, slick with desire and satisfaction. His mind went to how it would feel rubbing one out together, how hot Richie’s dick would be against his own, how he desperately wanted to see the face Richie made when he reached his climax—which was disappointingly absent from the photo. He  _ needed  _ to see it. He needed to see it all. He needed to see Richie unravel, just as he was about to right then. He needed to be the only reason Richie ever had that expression on his face. He wanted to, he needed to, he needed to cum so  _ badly. _

Richie could feel it, he could feel himself growing closer and closer. Imagining Eddie’s mouth on his cock, on his pelvis, sucking on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He wanted to see his dick shining with Eddie’s spit, he could almost taste Eddie on his lips still as he licked them. He almost came right then and there imagining how it would feel having Eddie’s tongue run the length of him, and sucking on the head like his life depended on it.

“ _ EddieEddieEddieEddieEddie, sshhhi-shittttt! _ ” Richie bit his lip hard, tugging furiously on his deeply swollen dick. He was so close, so  _ FUCKING  _ close—

_ “Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie _ — _ fuck please Rich.”  _ Eddie’s toes curled tightly, harsh moans increased in desperation. Almost, almost there, just a little more and—

“ _ Shhhhittt Eddieeeee!!” _

“ _ Ffffuuucckkkkk _ .”

Having to muffle his cry in the pillow, so as to not alert the other man, Richie gasped as his orgasm ripped through him with ferocity, blinding him for a split second as he came, his hand becoming sticky. 

Eyes rolling slightly back, his eyelids fluttering from the surge of blinding pleasure, Eddie practically screamed from the force of his orgasm, his hand dripping with white, as the water of the shower flowed down his arm, washing cum down the drain. His legs could no longer hold up his weight, and he slid down the shower wall onto the tile floor. 

Richie’s mind was still blank, still trying to catch up with the rest of him. His breathing was shallow, trying to drink in enough gulps of air to slowly bring him back to Earth. 

He brought his dirtied hand up to his line of vision, taking a moment to gaze at it. He wondered if Eddie was a spitter or a swallower. Knowing how picky he was, he figured Eddie would rather yank his teeth out than swallow. But fuck if that wouldn’t that be the hottest picture imaginable: Eddie finishing him off, licking his lips clean before swallowing every last bit of Richie’s load. The very thought would have immediately made him hard again, had he been any younger.

Eddie stared blankly at the wall, still processing what he had just done. 

_ Did I—Did I really just do that?  _

Now, Eddie was by no means a virgin. He and Myra had in fact consummated their marriage, ant they did have boring, scheduled sex every now and then. Not to mention the very few notches he had on his bed post from college (all women, none what he would consider pleasing experiences). But he had never—in all the time he could remember—felt so much desire, lusted after someone so much. And masturbating in someone’s shower, with the object of his lust just outside the door, was definitely a first for him. 

For a while, Eddie was beginning to think he would never have such strong feelings towards another person, feel such a raw need. If he had known it was an option, Eddie probably would have considered himself asexual. He had never really felt a strong need or desire to have sex. He thought all married couples were like this—obligated to be intimate because that’s what married couples do: have intercourse. 

But after meeting Riche, Eddie’s entire world had been turned on its head. He learned he did not want to just have intercourse, he wanted to  _ fuck.  _ And not just anyone, he wanted to fuck  _ Richie.  _ He wanted nothing more than to go out there to the bedroom and just  _ FEEL.  _ He never wanted this with anyone—ever—but Richie was different. He made him angry, he made him laugh; he made him frustrated, he made him care. Richie made him  _ want. _

Finally regaining feeling back in his legs again and no longer feeling like he was drowning in a sea of pleasure, Eddie stood up, and turned the shower to the coldest temperature. He had no idea how long he had been in that shower, and didn’t want Richie wondering what had held him up. 

Taking a small dollop of Richie’s body wash, he scrubbed his entire body thoroughly, not wanting any trace of his little session in the shower remaining. It took every drop of strength he had to relax once he got a whiff of the body wash, instantly enthralled by what he had come to know as Richie’s scent. But there was no time to dwell on it, hyper-aware of each passing second he spent in the shower. 

Finally washing the last of the soap off, he turned off the shower, shivering slightly from the cold air as he grabbed a soft towel from the rack. It was then that he realized he needed clothes to wear to bed. 

“Shit.” Eddie muttered under his breath. He took the towel and tied it around his waist, his upper body still dripping with water. He took a deep breath before cracking the door open a bit and calling out. 

“Uhhh—Richie? Do you have some clothes I could borrow for tonight?” 

There was a flurry of movement in the darkened room as Richie all but fell out of bed, drunkenly scrambling around to yank his pants back up with his clean hand. 

“Just a minute,” he called out, wiping his hand on a stray pair of underwear from the floor. 

“Maybe you’d be able to see better with some light.” 

Eddie pushed the door open wider, allowing a rectangle of light to spill into the room, broken up by his silhouette. Richie stared at him in pure awe as he stood there in the doorway, perfectly backlit so that he almost seemed to be glowing. His lips parted as he observed the droplets of water that rolled down his skin, the shine only reminding him of the picture he had taken from Facebook. And then his eyes slid down to the towel wrapped precariously around the sharp corners of Eddie’s hips, and Richie wanted to do nothing more than to put his lips there, to tear the towel away and—

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie's voice cut through his fantasy. “I’m gonna catch a fucking cold if you keep me standing here all wet like this!” 

He shivered as if to prove his point.

“Ok, now that’s—you’re just—that’s a setup if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Richie I swear to  _ God _ —just get me some clothes, please!” 

The taller man laughed to himself, slinking out of bed to rifle through his drawers. He grabbed the first shirt and pair of underwear he could find, tossing them in Eddie’s general direction. He had to lunge to catch them, nearly losing his towel in the process. Grumbling to himself about Richie’s lack of throwing skills, he retreated to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him—much to the disappointment of Richie. 

_ (he doesn’t want a faggot like you watching him get dressed) _

“Shut your stupid mouth,” Richie groused to himself, sliding off his shirt before kicking off his jeans. 

“Did you say something?” Eddie asked as he returned from the bathroom a few moments later. He stopped in his tracks, not expecting to see Richie stripped down to his skivvies. He was so  _ tall _ , with a pudge of stomach and long, lean limbs. Thick snarls of hair grew down his chest, and Eddie felt the absurd longing to just bury his face in it.

“Huh?” was all that Richie could respond, mind devoid of thought as he drank in the sight of Eddie practically drowning in his shirt, the Looney Tunes boxers he had loaned him hanging down to his knees. It occurred to him then that it could always be like this, Eddie casually wearing his clothes after a post-coital shower. 

_ (if only he wasn’t a married man who you had to get drunk  _ and _ high just to get him to kiss you back do you really think he’d be doing this if he was sober you sick fucking fag)  _

Richie tried to blink that terrible voice away, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. He needed another drink, or ten.

“Man, you really are fucked up,” Eddie chided. “Uh, I guess I’ll take the couch.” 

He began to make his way back to the living room, when Richie’s arm swung out, hand resting on the doorframe to block his path. Eddie shivered again for an entirely different reason as he was forced to look up the man looming over him. He was giving him that strange, hard stare again, eyes still glazed over from the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed. 

“You okay, Richie? Maybe you should have some water—” 

“Fuck that, you’re not—no one is sleeping on the couch tonight,” Richie insisted, not realizing how close he was leaning in towards Eddie. “Not with  _ that  _ back. My bed is the best one you’ll ever sleep in. I basically paid a billion dollars for it, it’s  _ good.”  _

“I dunno Rich—” 

“Nope! Don’t wanna hear it. Bed. Now.” Richie’s voice dropped with those last two words, going from concerned to demanding. Eddie’s heart was suddenly racing again, and he realized that he would do anything Richie asked of him, if only he talked to him in  _ that  _ voice. 

“I mean, if you really think so—” he began, putting up a fight he knew he wanted to lose. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Richie was staring at his lips once more, and Eddie  _ very much  _ wanted to be kissed again. Richie was so close now that he could smell him again, all alcohol and that musky cologne. He was near enough now that he could live out his earlier fantasy of just rubbing his face into the curls of hair that grew on his chest, inhaling that scent until he was dizzy with lust. Richie’s nose was brushing against his now, and Eddie could feel his breath on his lips. They were so close that all he had to do was the smallest movement to bring their mouths together. So he did. 

Eddie captured Richie’s lips in his own, a softer, more hesitant kiss than the ones they had shared earlier that night. Richie’s arm curled around the small of his back, pulling their bodies flush together. Eddie was thrilled in how much he really had to reach up to continue their embrace, enthralled in how Richie towered over him. It wasn’t long before there was an edge to that softness, and Richie was breathing heavily into Eddie’s mouth, tongue pushing through his lips to explore his mouth. Eddie could feel the bulge of his crotch against his stomach, and one of Richie’s legs pushed between his. He was inexplicably hard in a matter of moments, much to his own surprise considering the fact that he had just finished masturbating but minutes before. But his cock screamed for attention, springing up at the slightest touch from Richie. 

The hand that had blocked Eddie’s path reached down to grasp his erection through the thin cloth of his loaned boxers, and he didn’t recognize the noise that somehow escaped his own mouth. It was something between a cry and a whimper, but turned into a full on moan when Richie’s hand gave him a salacious squeeze. Their lips broke apart for a second, chests heaving as they gulped air, before their mouths came together once more. Eddie was shocked at how easy it was for Richie to bring this side out of him, how  _ desperate  _ he was for this. It was only when Eddie felt his fingertips slip into the waistband of the boxers that he pulled away completely, quickly grabbing Richie’s wrist to stop his movement. 

“Richie, I— _ fuck _ —you make this so hard,” he said in a pleading voice that was so low it was almost a whisper. “But I just —can’t. Not tonight. _ ”  _

Richie heaved a defeated sigh. 

“You’re  _ not _ sleeping on the couch,” he insisted after a beat, taking a step back from Eddie. 

“Fine, but we are  _ just  _ sleeping, we clear?” Eddie surrendered. 

“Crystal clear, captain!” 

Richie gave a mock salute and Eddie couldn’t help but crack a smile as he was led to the bed. The taller man made a show of preparing Eddie’s side of the bed, fluffing the pillows and pulling back the bedspread so he could get underneath.  _ Damn, this really is comfortable,  _ Eddie thought to himself as he sunk into the mattress. Richie clamored in next to him, immediately wrapping an arm around his stomach and pulling him close. Eddie felt a heat rise to his cheeks and began to protest out of instinct—he hated when Myra tried to cuddle him—but then it hit him that the warmth he was feeling behind him was in fact  _ Richie fucking Tozier _ , and more than one of his fantasies had come true that night. 

For once, Myra was the furthest thing from his mind as he concentrated on the feeling of the hair on Richie’s legs tickling the back of his own; the way Richie’s breath felt on the nape of his neck. It wasn’t long before Eddie drifted into a deep sleep, comforted by the oddly nostalgic sound of Richie’s deep, rumbling snores. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this chapter kind of got out of hand. You are all very welcome. Get ready for some gay ANGST in the next one. Also points to anyone who gets all the Bill Hader movie references in this chapter. ❤️😘 -Lynds
> 
> Comment below on what song plays in Richie’s head when he sees Eddie being the feral being that he is.  
> Here is a heaping pile of gay content that was longer than the previous chapters combined because of Eddie’s sexual awakening lol -Bats


	4. Eddie Fought a Vacuum Cleaner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has to face his wife after losing a fight to the world's tallest, drunkest vacuum cleaner
> 
> TW: Gore, bullying, body horror, graphic depictions of violence, homophobic slurs, abuse (throwing/breaking objects)

Eddie Kaspbrak hurried through the weathered hallways of his middle school, racing to make it to class before the bell signaled his lateness. The halls were strangely desolate, not another student visible in the seemingly endless corridor. Eddie, however, paid this no heed, intent on finding his destination amongst the infinite rows of lockers and faded doorways. He continued walking briskly, not sure of where he was headed, but sure he’d know it when he saw it. It wasn’t until he heard footfalls behind him that his feet faltered to a stop, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

There was a low whistle that echoed through the empty hallway, accompanied by low snickers that may as well have been the growl of some predatory beasts. 

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the momma’s boy,” a sickeningly familiar voice jeered, the leader of the pack of boys that were right behind Eddie now, his dirty blonde hair styled into an unkempt mullet. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

“T-to class,” Eddie squeaked, bottom lip trembling in fear as the four older boys crowded him. He tried stepping backwards, but only met the cold steel of the lockers. He was effectively trapped. 

“You think I wouldn’t hear you were talking shit about me? And my dad?” the boy hissed, grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and slamming him back against the lockers. 

His head bounced back with a sickening _slap!_ instantly sending shockwaves of pain coursing through him. The other boys laughed again, glaring down with what would only be described as pure hatred. 

“Please, I didn’t—” 

The taller boy held his arm in a vice-like grip, yanking him forward and forcing him to the ground. Eddie was helpless, heart-pounding and throat threatening to close up in his panic. The boy’s dirty boot was pressed against his cheek now, a sadistic smile spreading across his face. 

“You’re gonna get what’s coming to you, you fucking sis—” 

“Hey, fuckface!” a new voice cried out from further down the hall. Eddie tried looking up—well, as much as he could with this boot squishing his face on the cold vinyl flooring. All he could catch was the view of worn-out grey Chucks and cuffed jeans. He knew this voice, and instantly he felt simultaneously relieved and afraid for Mr. Grey-Chucks.

“Aww, here to defend you fucking boyfriend, Four-Eyes?” the boy above Eddie yelled out, pressing down even harder on the small boy and drawing out a sharp cry.

“Get your nasty-ass foot off Eddie, or mine’s gonna find its way up your pasty, pimpled ass!” 

The words seemed to really get to the bully, as he lifted the boot from his face and turned towards Eddie’s would-be savior. Eddie watched helplessly as the older boy yanked him by the collar, shoving him against the locker and bringing him up to eye level. 

“Big words from such a little fucking sissy.”

“That’s not what your mom said last night after leaving my house—”

Eddie let out a scream as the shorter boy was interrupted by a swift punch to the face that was punctuated by a nasty crunching noise. He dropped the boy, letting him crumple to the ground near Eddie. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING FAIRY!” the bully roared, continuously kicking the groaning boy, his glasses completely broken next to him. 

“STOP IT!” Eddie got to his feet, and would have run up and shoved him away, had it not been for the two other goons grabbing his arms, and holding him back. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!”

Eddie continued to scream at the bully, begging him to stop harming the boy on the floor, and didn’t notice as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, as he had his head tucked in, protected from the blows by his arms—but the very sight of the kid having the living shit kicked out of him terrified Eddie, horror and soul-wrenching worry filling every inch of his body. 

He tugged and pulled at his arms, trying with all his strength to break free from the fierce grips holding him in place. 

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, AND YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND GETS TO WATCH!” A sick, sadistic grin formed on the boy’s face, and to Eddie’s horror, the grin seemed to continue growing past where lips should have ended.

Eddie’s eyes widened in fear, whimpers escaping him as the unnatural smile spread across the entire length of his jaw. Eddie thought he could see the teeth growing, sharpening into a thousand razor-sharp points in the too-big smile. 

“ReMeMbEr Me EdDiE?” The grin began to let out a laugh, a laugh mimicking a thousand shrieking children, the sound hitting Eddie so sharply like shattering glass. He knew this laugh, he _feared_ this laugh.

“YoU tHoUgHt I wAs GoNe? I wAs JuSt WaItInG fOr YoU tO cOmE hOmE, eGg BoY.” This demonic voice deafened Eddie, so loud that even his thoughts were drowned out.

Eddie shrunk at the sight of those knife-like teeth, impossibly long and seeming to go on forever in a mouth that was far too big to be human. The color had left the bully’s face completely, leaving him almost white as the sickeningly pale skin stretched taut in glee. He felt so small, quivering in terror as the creature’s jaw somehow unhinged even further, revealing what looked like an infinite, slimy tunnel covered in sharp fangs.

_“No! You’re not real! You’re not real! Yourenotrealyourenotre-”_

_“I’m NoT rEaL? LeT’s AsK lOvER bOy.”_ It brought its attention back to the unconscious boy on the ground. A large claw-like hand reached down, grabbing the boy by the neck, and bringing him up, towards the endless cave of razors. 

“YOURENOTREALYOURENOTREALYOURENOTREAL!”

“ _Time to float.”_

The thing’s head slowly tilted back, claw-like hands keeping the boy pinned up and against the lockers. Eddie could see his face now; swollen and covered in dark blood. His glasses lay forgotten in the floor, mangled, twisted and horribly broken. And then—moving with an unsettling quickness—the monster’s jaw clamped down, never-ending rows of teeth easily sinking into the soft flesh on the boy’s face. A splatter of blood sprayed across Eddie’s chest, like a map of a violent new continent. He screamed again, although it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sickening sound of bone splintering and cracking under It’s powerful jaws, the horrible slurping noise It emitted as It hungrily lapped at the blood that was now pouring from where the boy’s face used to be. 

_“NO!”_

Eddie tossed his head to the side, trying desperately to look away from the horrifying scene before him. The tears were now freely flowing down his cheeks; he was dimly aware of the warmth of piss soaking his shorts, a hot stream running down his leg. A clammy hand that was heavy with the stench of death gripped his chin, forcing him to face forward and watch as the creature hunched over the boy that must surely be dead by now. It stripped away huge chunks of flesh and brain matter, grey flecks sickly flying through the air as It devoured the boy’s entire head in a matter of seconds. 

The boy’s lifeless body dropped to the floor with a sickening _thud._ Eddie was sobbing, still struggling weakly to escape the wormy grip of his captors. The thing jerked towards him, face wet with blood. A long, black tongue darted out to lick It’s lips as it surveyed Eddie with yellow, shimmering eyes. It looked _hungry._ Eddie’s sobs transformed into howls of pure horror as It moved closer, seeming to grow impossibly taller and taller with each forward step. It’s jaw unhinged once more to reveal those horrible teeth, one clawed hand reaching out to grasp his throat. Eddie lost any semblance of sanity he had left, screaming and screaming until his vocal chords ruptured, until he could emit nothing but husky barks as the thing lifted him in the air, holding him right above It’s open maw, which had grown so wide that It could swallow Eddie whole if It wanted, and he was sure It would, teeth chomping and crushing his flesh and bone—

Eddie woke with a start, absolutely drenched in sweat. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, nightmare still very vivid and clear in his mind. His cheeks were wet with fresh tears. A heavy arm laid across him, pulling him tight against its owner. Eddie grumbled to what he thought was his wife—reminding her that he didn’t like to be cuddled by her at night—when he noticed the wiry hairs growing from the arms that were still steadfastly holding him. All thoughts of his nightmare fled his mind completely as realization dawned on him, the events of the night before flashing before his mind in a dizzying rush of memory. 

The photo, picking up Richie, getting high, and above all else: the taste of Richie’s lips.

Looking in the direction of the arm, all he could see poking out from underneath the covers was a mass of dark, curly, _soft_ looking locks—a stark difference to Myra’s pin-straight, blonde hair.

_Definitely not Myra._

The sunlight peeking in from the blinds caught his eye, and instantly he could feel his stomach drop. _Is it really that late in the day?_ All he could think about was how many missed calls and messages were probably waiting for him on his phone, and just how much Myra was going to rip him a new one for not answering a single one. 

Holding his breath, he oh-so-carefully lifted the— _muscular_ —arm off his body and slipped out from underneath. Eddie could hear his heart thumping loudly in his ear, and almost feared that sound alone would be enough to rouse Richie awake. As much as his whole being ached to stay in those warm covers, in that warm embrace, Eddie knew how bad of an idea it would be for him to stick around. 

Swiftly—as quietly, as he could—he swooped into the bathroom, scrambling to yank his pants on, not bothering with his shirt. 

“Phone...phone… where the fuck is my pho—Ah!” Spotting the small rectangular device on the bathroom counter, he shoved it in his pocket and stepped out of the bathroom, neglecting to grab the glimmering ring that also rested on there.

Turning to Richie’s snoring frame, he checked to make sure he hadn't disturbed him. Sure enough, he was in the exact same position that he had left him in. Slowly opening the bedroom door, Eddie winced as the hinges gave evidence that they were in dire need of some oil, letting out a high pitched squeak. Quickly looking back to Richie, he let out a small sigh of relief to see there was still no sign of movement.

_Good fucking thing he’s a heavy sleeper._

Finally stepping out and _CAREFULLY_ closing the door behind him, he finally felt like he could breathe again, heartbeat no longer punching his eardrums in. But the worry and panic were still very much in his system, weary about what awaited him at home. 

Looking around frantically, he spotted his large coat laying across the back of the couch. He quickly grabbed it, feeling around for his keys. He blanched for a moment when he didn’t feel the familar shape of his keychain, before he remembered that the valet had taken it the night before. Eddie let out a sigh of relief. He turned toward the entrance, when something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. The ashy remains of the joint they smoked last night still sat undisturbed on the coffee table, along with the cocaine that had been there since before he had arrived. 

Not able to bear leaving the table in such a messy state, he placed his belongings onto the couch. As neatly and quickly as he could—being very careful not to spill any—he used a worn looking credit card to shovel the white powder into the plastic baggie he found under the table. Satisfied with his work, he sealed it shut and set it to the side.

“Why anyone would want to snort this shit, I’ll never know,” he muttered derisively to himself.

Finally he grabbed the ashtray, and dumped the long cold ashes in the garbage can in the kitchen. 

“Gross, gross, _gross.”_

He grimaced at the slight smell left behind, and knew that Myra would blow a gasket if she caught a whiff, and he’d be lucky to ever see the light of day again. Which was the last thing he wanted. _Especially now._

He meticulously washed his hands in the sink, wanting to make sure the smell of pot did not follow him. He scrubbed and scrubbed, almost forgetting for a moment of the sleeping Richie, and how he needed to leave before he noticed he was gone. 

There was no way he could face Richie. Not after last night. He’d had so many revelations in such a short time span, and he needed time and space to think on some things—how he was going to proceed, for instance. His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him like an electric current. He didn’t need to look to see who it was. Ignoring the call, Eddie practically ran from the condo, leaving the sleeping Richie alone in bed. 

The elevator ride from the top to the bottom floor was a long, tortuous one—filled with many stops on multiple floors for other people also heading to the lobby. He avoided eye contact, worried that if he looked anyone in the face they would somehow _know_ about the events that had transpired the night before. After what felt like an eternity, Eddie was finally on the ground level, practically running through the exit. He made a beeline for the valet stand, barking to the attendant: 

“I need my car!” 

“What account is it under?” the attendant asked politely. 

“Uh, try ‘Tozier,’” Eddie said. 

“Got it, we’ll have it right down.” 

Eddie nodded, leg jiggling impatiently as he waited for his car. His phone buzzed again, and he knew that he could no longer avoid the inevitable. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he slid his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumb across to answer the call. 

“Hello Myra—”

“EDDDDDDDIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!” Myra’s piercing voice wailed so loudly Eddie pulled the phone a good foot away from his ear. “EDDDDIEE WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK YOU DIDN’T ANSWER YOU DIDN’T CALL YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION I THOUGHT YOU HAD DIED OH EDDIE HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

“Myra, I—” 

“OH, EDDDDDDIIIIEE!!”

“Myra, please, I’m on my way home,” Eddie pleaded, trying to placate his hysterical wife. 

“YOU NEED TO GET HOME RIGHT NOW MISTER!” 

“Yes, dear,” he surrendered. “I’m sorry—”

There was the beep of the call ending as Myra hung up on him, and Eddie’s heart sank. He knew what was waiting for him when he got home, and it took every ounce of his self-restraint to not go right back upstairs and crawl back into bed with Richie. An attendant pulled his car up to the curb, stepping out and waiting by the door for Eddie to enter the driver’s seat. Eddie fished his wallet out of his pants, grabbing a few bills and shoving them into their hand before sliding into his car. 

He peeled off into the street, heart pounding heavily with dread. He had _no_ idea what he was going to tell Myra. He had already lied to her about there being an emergency with one of his drivers, just to get out of the house. How the hell would he explain away staying out for the _entire_ night. The implications alone were enough to make Eddie nauseous, the deep pit in his stomach full of churning, boiling waters. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel as he once again thought of the night before: of Richie’s lips clashing with his own, of Richie’s hands sliding up his chest, the way he had loomed over him and pushed him against the wall, and how Richie had gripped his cock—

Eddie came to a hard stop at a red light he almost did not see, barely stopping in time to keep himself from careening into oncoming traffic. He was just a few blocks away from home now, and he still had no idea what he was going to tell Myra. He thought about what he had texted her the night before, about a fictitious car accident and how Richie insisted he not drive so late. He hoped to God that she wouldn’t look up the traffic reports. 

A story was beginning to form in his mind as he pulled into his driveway. He parked, killing the engine and taking a few moments to ground himself. _Last night was a mistake,_ Eddie told himself. _A terrible mistake. A_ hot _mistake._ Eddie shook his head, as if trying to shake the very notion away. It had happened, but that was _it._ He had been under the influence, and things had gotten a little out of control. Myra didn’t need to know, because it was _never_ going to happen again. Right?

Swallowing thickly, Eddie grabbed his jacket and exited the car, locking the doors behind him. His legs felt like lead as he trudged the path to the front door, still full of overwhelming dread. Before he could reach the door, however, it burst open to reveal a tearful Myra, face red and puffy in her grief. 

“EDDDDIIIIEEE!!” she howled, yanking him through the doorway and into her arms. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEEEEAAAD!!” 

Eddie cringed at the volume of her screeching, trying to pull away from her vice-like grip. 

“Myra, I’m fine—”

“YOU WERE GONE _ALL NIGHT!”_

“I know—”

“HOW _COULD_ YOOOOOU!!!! I WAS UP SICK WITH WORRY!! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!!”

She finally freed him from her iron grip, placing indignant hands on her hips expectantly. 

“Myra, please just calm down. Like I told you last night, I had to go check in with one of my drivers—her car was vandalized and they stole the tires. And then I had to talk to the insurance. You know how that goes.” 

Myra glared at him with wet eyes, face pulled into a furious pout. 

“And _then?”_ she demanded. 

“Well, then my client called me,” Eddie continued quickly, “he needed a ride to some bar. And you know how celebrities are, Myra. The guy kept me out all night, then we got stuck in traffic—by the time we got to his place I was dead tired. He just didn’t want me to fall asleep on the drive home.” 

Myra’s face softened for a moment, before twisting into an irritated sneer. 

“Oh, those horrible celebrities have no respect for people’s time. I can’t _believe_ he would be so inconsiderate and keep my Eddie-bear away from me all night long.” 

She opened her arms wide, an invitation for a hug that Eddie did not quite want to take, but complied with anyway. He embraced her stiffly, sickened by the overpoweringly sweet scent of her perfume. 

“You don’t understand how _worried_ I was, my Eddie-bear,” she simpered, clutching him tightly. 

Eddie felt that seed of guilt begin to grow inside him when he saw how distraught he had made her, and she wasn’t even getting the full truth—not that he would ever tell her. He couldn’t say he was completely regretting his actions from the night prior. He certainly felt terrible about making Myra worry so much, but he knew deep down that he found out many things about himself that he otherwise would not have known. And he couldn’t deny that his client, Richie Tozier, was the reason behind said revelations. 

Well, Eddie now knew what he knew, but that didn’t mean it would ever happen again. Looking up at Myra, he saw tears streaming down her face. _It_ can’t _ever happen again._

“I’m sorry mah—dear.” Another word was poised to leave Eddie’s lips, a certain _maternal_ -related word. He would take it to his grave how often that word almost left his mouth when referring to his wife. Eddie definitely did _not_ almost say “mommy,” absolutely not. He continued to try to mollify his hysterical wife, “It won’t happen again, I’ll talk to his manager today to make sure of it.”

That seemed to satisfy the weeping woman as she finally released Eddie from her python-like embrace, leaving Eddie feeling slightly woozy once the oxygen returned to his extremities. 

“You had better! I have half a mind to march right up to him and give him a piece of my mind—your morning meds are going to be late now because of him! Have you even had breakfast? Did you sleep okay? How’s your back?”

His back straightened slightly at what could be considered a double entendre from her last question. He knew it was an innocent query, but he could already feel his blood rise into his face.

“Eddie you’re so red! Do you have a FEVER? Let’s go inside, you need your medication!” 

“Myra I already told you I feel fine, you don’t need to fuss.”

“But Eddie—”

“I’m alright, dear. I’ll take my medication, and speak to my client’s manager right after to let him know I won’t be coming in today.” He didn’t mean for his response to sound as sharp as it came out, but it seemed to do the trick as Myra stopped from checking to see if he had all ten fingers and all ten toes. 

“Well, since you’re going to be free today—you wouldn’t mind helping me with my errands, right?” 

“Uhhh.” Eddie would have absolutely rather have done anything else than spend all day driving around with his wife—as bad as that sounded. The events from last night left him completely drained, mentally and emotionally, and all he wanted to do was take a pill and sleep for the rest of his life. But he knew he was already deep in hot water with Myra, so it was in his best interest to keep her happy. 

“Of course, dear. Anything you want,” he relented.

“Oh, good! I have _so_ much to do today, so an extra pair of hands would be wonderful!”

“Yes, dear.”

Walking back inside, Eddie shed his coat and tossed it back into the hallway closet. 

“Who’s shirt is that, Eddie-bear?” Myra exclaimed, voice tinged with disapproval. “Don’t you think it’s rather inappropriate?”

“Huh?” All the nervousness from coming home made him completely forget he was still wearing Richie’s shirt. He realized he never really got a good look at the shirt, with all of the other _excitement_ of the night. Looking down and slowly deciphering the upside down letters, his face immediately reddened at the graphic printed on the shirt.

In giant black print, he could read,

SHUCK ME

SUCK ME

EAT ME RAW

Oyster Shucking Contest 2014

 _Why the FUCK does Richie have this? AND WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE GIVE IT TO ME??_ Eddie thought to himself in pure confusion and anger. 

He was almost at a loss for words at what was being displayed on his person, and he immediately rushed to the bathroom to remove the offensive article of clothing. He didn’t even bother answering Myra’s question as he practically ran past her. 

Slamming the bathroom door, he slid the offending shirt off and onto the floor. He finally took this time to allow himself to breathe. It was one of those days where it seemed to be just one thing after another, and he was about ready to throw in the towel. He splashed some water on his face in an attempt to clear some of the redness in his cheeks. Eddie thought about taking his morning medication and then a short nap before starting his day with Myra, still exhausted from the thorough lack of sleep from the night before. 

He opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed his pill organizer, scooping out the meds labeled for that morning. He swallowed them all quickly before putting the box away. Closing the cabinet, Eddie finally got a good look at himself for the first time that morning. It took everything for him to not yelp at the sight that caused his eyes to practically bulge out of their sockets.

All over his neck and part of his upper torso, were the deepest, darkest hickeys Eddie had ever had in his entire life. 

_Holy fucking shit, Richie!_

“Hey, honey, I forgot to add your Zoloft to your pill case—” 

Without warning, Myra burst into the bathroom, which Eddie then realized he neglected to lock. She took one look at his exposed chest and immediately let out a scream.

“EDDIE-BEAR WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE HURT?!? DID YOU GET IN A FIGHT? IT WAS YOUR CLIENT’S FAULT, WASN’T IT? OH MY POOR EDDIE!!”

“MYRA! N-no, no, no! I’m fine! Please just get out—”

“YOU’RE NOT FINE, LOOK AT ALL THOSE BRUISES! I’M CALLING THE DOCTOR RIGHT AWAY!” Myra cried as she scurried away, the dropped bottle of pills forgotten on the floor. 

_“Fucking shit,”_ Eddie hissed to himself, eyes frantically going over the telling trail of love marks that lined his torso, heart slamming against his ribcage. _“Fuckfuckfuck.”_

He paced the length of the bathroom, nervously tugging at his hair. He could hear Myra in the other room, blathering on the phone to some poor receptionist about how they needed to find an opening to see Eddie right that instant. He could feel his breath begin to become uneven again, throat threatening to close shut the way it had last night after he had taken his first hit of a joint. He scrambled to open a drawer, grabbing the inhaler it held and jamming it into his mouth. He pressed down, breathing in the bitter cloud of medicine. His heaving chest evened out after a moment, but his heart did not stop its pounding as he continued to stare at his reflection. 

He heard Myra groan in frustration, followed by her approaching footsteps. He hurriedly reached for the robe hanging on the back of the door, slipping into and tying the sash tightly around his waist. His wife bustled back into the room in a huff, mouth pulled into a deep frown. 

“They can’t see you until Thursday!” she snarled, seizing Eddie by one shoulder and yanking the robe down to survey the conspicuous marks running down his chest. “We need to find you a better primary care physician. One who takes walk-ins. Oh, those bruises look so _nasty.”_

 _You have no idea,_ Eddie thought to himself, shivering. 

“You’re shaking like a leaf! Maybe you should just stay home and get some rest today,” she suggested, pressing one hand to Eddie’s forehead to check for a temperature. “You probably caught a cold being out all night.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Eddie agreed, trying not to sound too hopeful. “I think I just need to sleep it off.” 

“Let’s get you in bed, my Eddie-bear!” Myra cooed, and Eddie allowed her to steer him to their bedroom. She pulled back their bedspread, patting the spot with her meaty hand. “I was so _lonely_ without you. I’ll be so glad to have you all to myself again tonight.” 

Eddie suppressed a grimace, taking his spot on the bed. His wife tucked him in, placing a big, wet kiss in the center of his forehead. He gritted his teeth, trying hard not to react in disgust at the feeling of her lips against his skin. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours, I’ll make sure to bring home plenty of soup and fluids so we can get you feeling nice and better in no time! I love you, Eddie!” 

“Love you, too,” he replied as his wife finally left him alone. 

Eddie waited a few minutes until he heard her car leave the driveway, before squirming out of the blankets that Myra had so tightly wrapped around him. He jumped out of the bed, rummaging through his pants to find his phone. His finger was hovering above Richie’s name, ready to call him and scream at him, and demand to know _why_ he had decided to become the world’s most annoying vacuum cleaner and leave all these damn marks all over his body. But calling Richie and saying all of these things would mean admitting out loud to what had happened the night before, and that was a conversation that Eddie was not ready to have. 

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, striding over to his closet and grabbing a random shirt. He jammed it on, hiding the offending marks from view. Finally alone, he was forced to face his own racing thoughts. As much as he wanted to believe that everything between Richie and him had just been some wonderful dream, the bruises on his skin told another story. Richie’s ridiculous shirt lay visible on the bathroom ground, seeming to mock him in its ludicrousness. 

He walked over and picked up the shirt, and was hit with a whiff of Richie’s scent, the smell that had enveloped him whole as Richie had kissed him. _Fuck._ There was no way he was going to be able to get this out of his head. He folded the shirt and quickly shoved it in the bottom of one of his drawers, slamming it shut. 

“Goddammit fucking _shit,”_ he muttered to himself, running one hand through his hair. 

Shoulders slumped, he hurried out of his room, wanting to put space between him and that damn shirt. Eddie made his way into his office and settled in front of his computer. Fingers drumming impatiently, he waited for it to boot up, anxious for some answers to the questions flying through his brain. 

“Hurry the fuck _up_ already.” 

The little rotating circle seemed to mock him, and he swore it started spinning even slower, as if laughing at his anxiousness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the familiar sight of his login screen popped up. 

He let out a exasperated groan as his shaky fingers caused him to fuck up his password a couple of times. It was a few agonizing moments before he finally was let in, and the sight of a specific scene in a specific movie he never finished last night greeted him. He almost clicked the play button, wanting desperately to see the rest of _Gay, Horny, and Sad Richie: The Movie,_ but he had more important things he had to do. Happy knowing that Netflix would save where he left off, Eddie wasn’t too bothered to click out of the window. 

Pulling up Google, his mind blanked a little as he stared at the screen and wondered where to even begin. 

Finally, he decided to just start simple.

_How do you know if you are gay_

He clicked enter, not sure if he was ready for what he was about to get into. His doubt grew when he saw the sheer amount of articles that popped up, immediately feeling beyond lost.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Eddie said to himself. But deep down he knew if he’d regret it even more if he didn’t give it a shot. 

Clicking on the first article took him to a blog of sorts. Reading through, it seemed to talk about this person’s own journey of their sexuality. Interesting, but it wasn’t quite what he was looking for, as the language sounded a bit teenager-y. As a middle aged man, it was hard for him to relate. He clicked out of the blog, back to the seemingly unending list of sites. 

“Fuck, this is harder than I thought…” 

His next choice looked promising, a more legitimate article published by some sort of non-profit. 

‘ARE YOU QUESTIONING YOUR SEXUALITY FOR THE FIRST TIME’

Well that’s pretty straightforward, he sure fucking was doing all sorts of questioning. Reading through the article, it brought him some answers, but even more questions. Ok, sure—he may have a small, little, miniscule amount of feelings for a certain comedian, but that still doesn’t answer why he’s just _now_ thinking about this. Why had it taken so long for him to develop these kinds of feelings for anyone—much less this random client of his. Eddie had never felt this way about anyone before, not Myra or the scarce amount of women he tried to date before her. And sure, he’d always been aware of the attractiveness of men, but had never felt anything _close_ to how he did for Richie. He had always assumed that kind of attachment to another person had always just been overly romanticized for the sake of books and movies—not something that actually existed in the real world. 

That’s why he agreed to marry Myra when she’d asked him after only half a year of dating. Myra was so much like his mother, that he figured he had no choice in the matter. Myra was the only woman his mother had ever actually approved of—and as much as his mother fucked him up during his childhood, he knew that marrying Myra would make her happy, especially since she often made herself so sick with worry over Eddie being out of the house. 

At that point he felt that—as her only son—he had a duty to make her happy somehow after everything she had sacrificed trying to raise him all alone. So when Myra told him they would be getting married, he didn’t refuse, letting Myra and his mother do whatever they wanted for the wedding. They had gotten so much more joy out of it all than he could ever have, so it made more sense to let them do as they pleased. His mother died two years later.

Pushing those thoughts away, Eddie went back to Google, thinking about what to search next.

_Is finding out you are gay at 40 common_

“That should be fucking specific enough for you, Google.”

The first article that popped up had a title that drew Eddie with a magnetic force with how exact it was. It felt like it was written exactly for him in mind.

‘Infidelity and Forgiveness: The Complexities of Coming Out in a Straight Relationship.’

It almost kicked the air out of him. Throughout this whole thing, he had felt terrible about even _thinking_ of actively pursuing Richie while still married, overwhelming him with guilt and shame. 

The more he read through the article, the more the weight on his shoulders felt lighter, he wasn’t strange, he wasn’t weird. And he wasn’t alone.

The idea that maybe, one day, he could be happy with someone—filled him with hope. Maybe he wasn’t crazy for wanting to leave Myra, maybe there was some future where he and Richie could live happily together. 

The thought alone made him want to melt and scream at the same time. Was he really contemplating this? Was this _really_ something he was considering? Leaving his safe, mundane, predictable life, to possibly be with Richie, even at the risk of so many unknowns. A dark, less hopeful thought threatened to overtake him: maybe Richie didn’t feel the same way. What if it didn’t work out, and Eddie was left all alone, with nothing? All Richie had said was that he wanted to suck him off, not whisk him away from an unhappy marriage. The idea of Richie using him and then leaving him on the streets made him want to vomit. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but one could never be too careful.

He stared blankly at the screen, not really seeing. As hard as he tried, he was unable to push the events from the night before out of his mind. The guy had just kissed him, and here Eddie was having an entire identity crisis. And Myra. She would be home soon enough, with more fussing and questions. He suddenly remembered the telltale bruises running down his chest, and how she had scheduled a doctor’s appointment for him. _She can’t be_ that _stupid,_ Eddie mused, brows contracting. _She’s gotta be kidding me. Trying to lull me into a false sense of security so she can catch me by surprise later._

His fingers were back at the keyboard, furiously typing in a new search. This one also had an overwhelming amount of results, so Eddie clicked the second one from Cosmopoliton.com: _How to Get Rid of a Hickey in 2016._ The article listed a myriad of ways to help them heal and fade faster, although the final paragraph proclaimed that there was no true way to get rid of a hickey overnight. Eddie let out a frustrated groan, grumbling to himself about false advertisement. 

He was just about to click out of the page, when one of the suggested articles at the bottom of the screen caught his eyes: _Trashmouth Tozier Doesn’t Understand People Thirsting After Him._ Eddie clicked it immediately, reading the contents of the article with a hard face. It was an article about Richie’s bewilderment over fans calling him a “sex symbol,” accompanied by a series of photos that were clearly meant to prove exactly why anyone would hold such a sentiment. Eddie felt his face grow hot as he looked through each picture hungrily, feeling that now familiar curl of arousal rising in the pit of his stomach. The article ended too soon, with the writer affirming that Richie Tozier was, in fact, a “thirst trap.” 

Back to Google Eddie went, keying in yet another search: _what is a thirst trap._ He ignored the first result from some website called Urban Dictionary, finally finding one from the a more trustworthy source, Dictionary.com: 

**Thirst Trap**

[ thurst-trap ]  
noun Slang.  
(on the internet) a social media post, especially a selfie or other photo, intended to elicit sexual attention, appreciation of one’s attractiveness, or other positive feedback (often used attributively):

Eddie’s mind flitted once again to the picture that Richie had sent him, the one that had made his mouth water the night prior— _before_ he was under the influence. Oh, Richie was a thirst trap, alright. And it had gotten Eddie’s complete attention, just like the definition stated. The heat in his groin was rising, and he wasn’t very surprised to feel that he already had a semi just _thinking_ about that picture of Richie’s spent cock, still hard and thick in his hand. _Fuck._ Eddie was rattled—his client had turned his world on its head with the two most passionate kisses he had ever experienced in his life. Not to mention that _damn_ picture. And now he was completely and undeniably enamored, and he knew that these thoughts of Richie would permeate his mind for the rest of his life if he didn’t get some closure. 

Or at least some fucking _answers._

His eyes focused once again on the definition of “thirst trap.” _Two can play at that game._

Suddenly propelled by the idea that entered his brain, Eddie left his office and hurried back into the restroom. Flipping the light switch, he quickly removed his shirt and folded it neatly, setting it on the counter. He fished his phone from out of his pocket, pulling open the camera. Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he snapped a quick picture of his chest. His face fell when he looked back at it—disappointed by just how _unexciting_ it was, especially compared to what Richie had sent him. He tried again, angling his body a little to the side. That one was better, but not exactly what Eddie had in mind. 

He observed himself in the mirror, eyes running over the marks that were blossoming down his chest, across his stomach. He suddenly, vividly remembered the way Richie’s lips felt as they traveled down his skin, his tongue and teeth as they lavished over him, his hands as they dug into the flesh of his hips. Eddie swallowed hard, and his erection was now perfectly outlined by his pants. He brought back his phone camera, angling it toward the mirror. He hooked one thumb through his front belt loop, pulling his waistband low around hips that were jutting forward. He angled his chin up—to be sure to show off every single bruise that Richie had left him—and stared directly into the reflection of the camera lens as he took the shot. 

He didn’t have to look at the photo for long to know that was _it._ He sent it before he could give it a second thought. 

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he could feel his anxiety start to rise. Why did he send that? It was such a bad idea—how could he be so stupid? What made him so compelled to take a photo like that, and then send it to Richie, of all people? He didn’t want to see that. The guy was probably off in some bar again, doing God knows what—or who. Eddie scrambled for his inhaler again as he felt the onset of a panic attack threaten to close his throat. 

He took a deep inhale of the medication, maybe even a bit too much as he felt slightly woozy afterwards. In his attempts to calm down, Eddie failed to notice the read receipt pop up under the picture he had sent. He could breathe now, but his nerves still felt like a wreck. 

_Where’s my fucking Valium!_

His hands flew to the cabinet once more, digging around until he found the package of familiar blue pills. Eddie popped one in his mouth dry, at this point in his life so accustomed to taking medication that it was swallowed easily.

Yanking his shirt back on, he grabbed his phone without looking at the screen, and quickly slipped back into his office. 

He plopped himself back in front of the computer, and tried not to think of the shameless photo he just sent. The deed was done, and that was that—he couldn’t exactly take it back. He looked to his computer, the screen still on that article. The photos of Richie still taunted him, making him feel excited yet confused beyond reason. He palmed at the front of his pants, the warm feeling growing almost uncomfortable. 

“What the fuck are you, twelve?” Eddie murmured to himself, snatching his hand away from his growing crotch. He took a second to relax, starting to feel the effects of his medication, letting the calming feeling take over. 

Before he could realize what he was typing, he opened a search for _“Richie Tozier thirst traps."_ At this point, he didn’t know what he was looking for, but maybe he didn’t need to know right now. And maybe it was the Valium talking—or he was so drained that he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore—but he was done being afraid to even entertain the idea, feeling so emboldened to openly look up sexy imagery of a celebrity like a goddamn teenager. 

Scrolling through one editorial photoshoot after another, he wondered what it was that made him so drawn to this man, pulled to him like a magnetic force. Although he had to say, he wouldn’t have thought Richie could look so...model-like? Looking through these photos, Richie posed in suits that looked more expensive than anything in his closet, some advertising some sort of product, others from interviews he had done. It almost caused him to laugh. Up to this point he’d only seen Richie in tacky Hawaiian button-ups and random destination t-shirts. He didn’t even know the comedian could look like that, almost—dare he say it— _presentable._

As Eddie continued scrolling through, clicking on each article, he came across a link from Reddit, the description capturing his attention entirely.

‘ _TRASHMOUTH MADE A PORN VIDEO?’_

“THE FUCK?” 

Eddie almost forgot where he was, his eyes trained only on the title. There was no way Richie made a porn. He hadn’t read about this in all the interviews he scanned through; he would think that this sort of thing would be constantly brought up, especially considering how famous he was. 

Did he dare click on it?

Oh, what the hell—he already had a picture of the man’s dick on his phone, it’s not like there was a line anymore.

Skimming some of the entries on the Reddit thread, it seemed that Richie made this one single porn video while still in college. Nervousness pooled in his gut; why was he so nervous about watching this? 

Without giving himself a second to reconsider, he clicked on the play button, and leaned back in his chair after making sure the volume was lowered in the chance that Myra came home early. He didn’t even know what he would say to her if she caught him watching porn, particularly one starring his current client.

Immediately his breath was taken away at the sight of a much younger looking Richie walking into the scene. He was dressed in a surprisingly pristine suit, walking into the set that had been made to look like a bedroom. He looked nervous, but the smirk on his face made it seem like he owned the world. Eddie already knew from experience just how soft his hair was, but with how well styled it was in the video, it made him want to jump in the video and make Richie look like an absolute mess. 

Eddie bit his lip, his eyes fixated on Richie’s arms as he loosened his tie, letting the piece of fabric dangle around his neck, and drawing the eye to his chiseled jawline. _He wanted to lick it._

At that point, arms came from behind Richie, pulling off his blazer, and unbuttoning the white shirt at the top. A woman was revealed from behind Richie, voluptuous in figure, dressed in a figure hugging red gown. Eddie’s attention immediately went to Richie’s chest as the woman revealed more of his bare chest with each button undone. Richie was much younger in this video, his chest not as broad as Eddie remembered it to be. That didn’t stop Eddie from picturing himself stroking the smattering of hair on Richie’s chest, maybe even dragging his fingernails on the sensitive skin of Richie’s nipples. 

His body seemed to agree as his erection returned with a vengeance at the thought. Eddie looked down at himself, to his cock that was once again so clear even through his pants. He gripped himself through the thick fabric, grabbing his phone and snapping another picture of his fingers caressing the outline of his shaft. Heart racing, he sent that one to Richie as well. 

Eddie broke away from his thoughts to focus back on the video just in time to see that Richie’s shirt had gone, and the woman had already shed her dress off, revealing a very strappy black lingerie set, and the two were pressed on the wall, practically glued at the pelvis.

A part of Eddie had a really bad taste in his mouth at seeing Richie being intimate in this way with another person, even if it was all fake and just for a paycheck. But at the same time, it was so easy to just focus on Richie and let his imagination run wild, his mind replacing the woman in the video with himself. Imagining Richie picking _him_ up by his thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh of _his_ ass, slamming _him_ onto the bed, grinding into _him_ like his life depended on being as close as physically possible. Eddie imagined it was him being completely ravished by Richie Tozier. All reservations gone, he shoved his hand into his pants, heart pounding as he began to stroke himself furiously.

His hand moved in rhythm with the flurry of Richie’s hips, pounding into the girl with abandon. What Eddie would give to be in her place, to be in Richie’s arms, to be dragging his nails across the broad muscles of his back, to be the reason Richie was grunting and panting like _that._ It didn’t take long for Eddie to finish, back arching violently off of his chair as his hand filled with a sticky warmth. 

So engrossed in the video, Eddie hadn’t noticed when his phone buzzed with a text notification. It took him a moment to pause it and tear his eyes away, looking down to his phone screen. It was a response from Richie. His mouth went dry as he whipped his hand out of his pants and frantically wiped himself clean with a tissue from the box Myra always kept stocked on his desk. Fingers shaking, it took a few tries for Eddie to unlock his phone. It opened to the thread of messages between him and Richie, the pictures he had sent staring back up at him. The first was suggestive enough: the pose, the small contusions running down and leading the eye to the obvious erection bulging in his pants. And then the second: Eddie’s hardened cock filling his hand, still clothed. Eddie, so shocked at how _good_ he looked, took a moment to comprehend Richie’s reply: 

_wow looks like u and the wife had some fun lol good for u i guess??_

Eddie stared at the words in confusion. It then occurred to him that Richie could be joking, or at least he hoped he was. He then remembered how very fucked up his client had been, how strongly he had smelled of alcohol when he had kissed him. His stomach twisted in knots of anxiety as he typed his reply: 

_I wasn’t with Myra last night._

He restlessly waited for the response, now acutely aware of the mess he had made. He looked back to the image of Richie frozen mid-thrust, brows drawn and lips parted. He took a picture of the screen with his phone. 

_where were u???_

Eddie massaged the bridge of his nose, nostrils flared. Of fucking _course_ Richie didn’t remember. Here Eddie was, thinking about their first kiss all damn day, and Richie had no fucking clue it had even happened. He furiously typed his response:

_You gotta be fucking kidding me_

And then added:

 _I stayed at your place last night._

He watched as the message immediately showed as “read,” and the three dots appeared to show Richie was replying. 

_lmao ur kidding right_

_No. I’m not._

All he got in response was:

_??????_

Eddie inhaled sharply. How could a man that made him so entirely _frustrated_ also make him so incredibly _turned on._ He was about to type an angry retort when he got another message:

_what the fuck happened last night_

Uptown, Richie Tozier was staring at his phone in complete and utter disbelief—very confused yet _very_ turned on. He had awoken just a couple of hours before with a wicked hangover to rival the one from the day before, and had spent a good portion of his morning in bed, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter. That is until he had received _that_ picture from Eddie. His jaw had dropped, heart fluttering as he drank in the sight of his shirtless driver, the line of love marks running down his chest, the unusual tautness of his pants around his crotch. It was a private picture clearly meant for his wife, and Richie had no idea how to respond. 

And then the second picture came in, Eddie groping himself through his pants, his erection even more clear in this close up angle. That alone had been enough to bring Richie’s own cock to full attention, racing heart sending the blood pumping straight below his belt. This went ignored for now, as Richie was more intent on figuring out just what had happened. And as he and Eddie messaged each other back and forth, he realized that there was a big chunk of the night before that was completely missing from his memory. 

_Holy fuck, Eddie stayed here last night?_ Richie panicked, completely at a loss for whatever he had done or said. Obviously _something_ of significance had happened—Richie scrolled back up to the first picture, observing the dark trail of hickeys on Eddie’s skin. _There’s no way…_

His phone emitted a soft _ding_ with Eddie’s response. 

_I really can’t believe you don’t remember. This doesn’t ring any bells?_

There was another picture, an even closer shot of Eddie’s neck and chest, the stubble on his jawline just visible in the upper-right corner of the screen. He could see the marks more clearly now, bright red with stipples of purple beginning to form, descending down his neck and clavicle, across his muscled chest and out of frame. Richie’s licked his lips, desperately wracking his brain for even a trace of memory of the night before. 

“You picked a great fucking night to blackout, Trashmouth,” he muttered to himself in annoyance as he typed a response. 

_looks like u got in a fight with a vacuum hose, and the vacuum won lol_

Richie watched the three dots that formed in the bottom left of the screen, mouth bone dry. 

_Yeah, the tallest, most drunk vacuum in the world._

Richie’s jaw dropped, unbelievably pissed at himself for not remembering doing all of _that_ to Eddie. Fuck, just how drunk had he been? He was desperate for details, and was just about to ask for them, when yet _another_ picture came through from Eddie. It took Richie a moment to understand what he was seeing in the blurry photo: and then it dawned on him that Eddie had sent him a photo of his computer screen, paused on a video that he could now see was himself. He was mortified to realize that it was a still from the _one_ fucking pornography he had made while he was in college, back when he was living off of one cup of ramen a day. _Fuck, I thought I’d got that taken down._

Another message from Eddie: 

_I found one of your old movies today_

Richie struggled to swallow, and suddenly felt _very_ thirsty. Unsure of how to respond, he finally forced himself out of bed and to the restroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, hair sticking out at wild angles, deep purple bags underneath his eyes, his crotch bulging with an erection that was still going neglected. _God, I look like shit._

He removed his glasses to splash some water on his face, gulping a handful down in an attempt to placate his dry throat. He placed his glasses back on his nose, and a sparkle of light caught his eyes from his countertop. It was a plain gold ring, and Richie immediately knew it as Eddie’s wedding band. He picked it up, staring at it down in his palm. There was a shirt at his feet that he didn’t recognize, and as he leaned down to grab that as well, he realized it was much too small to be his own. He stood there for a moment, blearily putting the pieces together with his clouded mind. It all came together in one enlightening moment.

He nearly dropped both items in his panic to get back to his phone, which had stayed on the bed. Richie placed them both carefully down on his bedside table, before furiously typing the question that blared in his mind: 

_holy shit dude did we fuck last night???_

Richie anxiously waited for Eddie’s response, leg jiggling with nerves. 

_Of course not, asshole. You were way too fucked up. I’m not a creep._

Quickly followed by: 

_You kissed me though. And left all these damn marks on me. What the hell am I supposed to tell Myra??_

Did he really do all that to Eddie? And what’s worse, he couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. Richie could feel his head throbbing behind his eyes, his hangover still very much present. 

_Idk, lol my vacuum theory is still in the air._

_Myra isn’t stupid, Rich….She thinks they’re from a fight_

A fight? Richie had been in plenty of bar fights, and those looked nothing like bruises from getting hit. How dense was this woman? 

_well I guess u did. with me. and my mouth._

Richie let out a chuckle, licking his chapped lips, almost as if trying to see if the taste of Eddie’s skin remained.

_Beep beep Rich._

A warm sense of nostalgia clenched his heart at seeing the phrase. He figured it was just one of Eddie’s sayings, but why did it come with such a heavy sense of déjà vu? Richie took a second, and stared at the message. Whispers of a memory he couldn’t quite make out passed by, and with the massive headache Richie was still suffering from, there was no way for him to focus enough to even try to recall. All he knew was he was filled with a warmth he had not felt in a long time, and he almost felt giddy. 

_from the pictures, you seem to like it. the ol’ trashmouth._

The dots seemed to appear then go away for a little, only for them to reappear. Richie could just imagine Eddie getting so flustered from his comment that he kept typing then erasing everything. He couldn’t help but let out a snicker at the thought. Eddie, his cute Eddie Spaghetti, blushing a deep red just from a little text. It was almost too adorable to handle.

The dots kept blinking on and off, and at this point it started to make Richie sweat a little. Did he cross a line?

_Well yeah, otherwise I would have decked you in the face. Asshole_

That was all Richie needed to be left practically speechless. He hadn’t expected Eddie to actually admit it.

_honestly if i was that plastered i probably would have not minded._

_You want me to punch you in the face??_

_if it meant seeing ur cute scrunched up nose then hell ya_

_Don’t call me cute!_

Richie laughed out loud at how quick Eddie’s response to that was, tossing his head back. Eddie was too much.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun bickering with someone. Typically he was the one people thought was too much to handle. So, the fact that Eddie was so quick with his responses was such a breath of fresh air to him, and he honestly did not want it to end.

_would u have let me go further?_

Richie didn’t know why he typed that, but at this point there was no holding back, and he was beyond curious about Eddie’s response.

_Richie, you were absolutely gone. Not only were you drunk, we smoked a joint together too._

_no fucking way dude u got high with me?!?! and i MISSED it!?!!!?!_

God, why the fuck did he have to forget possibly the most amazing night of his life? Eddie almost made it sound like _something_ would have happened if he had been sober.

Richie reached for a water bottle that he always had on his night stand, when a little yellow sticky note on his lamp caught his eye. Looking at what was written, he immediately recognized it as his very messy handwriting that was most likely from last night. All that was on the sticky note was ‘GET SOBER’ in large, 5th-grade-esque handwriting. Well if that wasn't a sign, he didn’t know what was.

Immediately grabbing his phone, he rapidly typed his message to Eddie.

_so what I’m hearing is if I was sober we totally would have bumped uglies_

_Who the fuck says bumping uglies anymore? What are you, still in the 80’s?_

Biting the tip of his finger, Richie almost felt like a kid trying to keep his crush’s attention. The more Eddie snapped back, the more he wanted to keep going, to keep pulling the figurative ponytail. 

_hey what’s wrong with the 80’s? :(_

Bubbles of giggles escaped from Richie. He knew he was a full grown man acting like some love-sick teen, but he didn’t care. He was having an absolute blast teasing his driver like this.

His _driver._

What the fuck was he doing?

And as quick as it was forgotten, his headache pulsed in his temples, reminding him just where he is, and who they were, and how badly he’d fucked up. Thinking back to the gold wedding band that surely belonged on Eddie’s ring finger, he started to think why Eddie took it off in the first place. Did he feel ashamed? Did he feel bad about last night? Was he planning on coming clean to his wife?

_(of course he’s feels bad about it who wouldn’t feel bad about kissing you you disgusting fucking freak not only that but he’s married oh you’ve really done it this time richie you’re really in some deep shit now)_

Leave it to Richie to start falling for a married man, on his payroll no less. And of fucking course he would decide to lay the moves on said man while blackout drunk, to some degree of success it seemed. In that moment Richie decided he would do absolutely _anything_ to be able to recall even a single detail of whatever had happened last night. If he was going to be filled with this much shame, he might as well know _why._

Richie stared at his phone screen expectantly; his message shown _read,_ but the three dots were not there to signal Eddie typing a response. He scrolled back, looking for the first two pictures that his driver had sent him, but went back too far. His thumb stopped when he saw their conversation from the night before. _Jesus, I don’t even remember asking him to pick me up._ He continued to go through the thread, face paling when he saw the picture that he himself had sent prior to drunkenly asking for a ride home. It was the very photo he had taken earlier that day, cock hard and covered in cum after jerking off to Eddie’s Facebook picture, which _thankfully_ had not been sent along with the dick pic. 

Richie perked up a little knowing that even after that, Eddie _still_ came to pick him up. And then somehow ended up staying the night. What else had happened? Had they slept in the same bed? He scrolled back down to the first picture Eddie sent, observing it with the new knowledge that he was the reason for that long string of love marks that blemished his pale skin. The flame of arousal lurched in his gut, and he was once again reminded of how painfully turned on he was. 

He typed out a new message: : 

_u know i’m pretty sober right now_

Eddie’s response came sooner than he thought. 

_Good. I’m tired of seeing you fucked up_

Ouch. That one stung, but Richie was curious to see how far he could take this—Eddie’s marriage be damned. Obviously there was some sort of mutual interest there that neither one of them could deny at that point. 

_u should come over and go for round 2 with this vacuum_

_Really fucking funny, asshole._

It was hard for Richie to read Eddie’s tone over text, but he hoped it was endearing. 

_why watch that old video when u can come have the real thing?_

Richie took his own picture then, mirroring the second one Eddie had sent, holding his achingly hard cock through the thin material of his boxers. He sent it without a thought, feeling a thrill rise in his gut like he had never felt before. 

_Jesus Christ, Richie._

Richie smirked. 

_ur not the only one who has a camera on their phone._

_You’re making this really hard for me, Rich._

_hard?? Let me see_

_Too late._

A moment later another picture came through, this time the inside of Eddie’s underwear, all dark and sticky with what looked like semi-dry semen. It took him a moment to realize that he recognized those Looney Tunes boxers as his very own. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie said out load in a hoarse voice, quickly typing his response. 

_damn all that from just watching my old video? u sure know how to flatter a guy_

_Fuck, Myra’s home. I’ll talk to you later._

Richie’s face fell, staring blankly at his phone screen. _What the fuck am I doing?_ He repeated to himself, rubbing his mouth with his free hand. His erection was still very much there, screaming for attention, that heat that had pooled in his groin completely outweighing the shame that had started to build. Ok, so the guy was married. And technically his employee. But had he not sent Richie those pictures with some kind of intentions? 

What else was Richie supposed to do, but use them to jerk off, imagining what it was like to kiss Eddie, wondering where they had done it—in the living room? In his bed? What did Eddie’s moans sound like as he kissed down his neck, across his chest—biting and sucking hard enough to leave those marks on his skin.What might have happened if Richie had not been quite so fucked up, would Eddie have let him continue downward? How far would they have gotten? He looked down to the picture of Eddie’s clothed erection, wishing desperately to know what it tasted like.

Richie came in a matter of minutes, gasping for air as his entire body seized for a moment. He collapsed into his bed, the pressure in his head alleviated slightly. He basked in the afterglow of his orgasm for a few minutes, phone dropping from his limp hand still open on Eddie’s picture. It didn’t take long for the shame to hit him again with full force, bubbling up his gut and overflowing in hot waves. How long was he supposed to be content with desperately jerking off over pictures of a man who by all means should be off limits? 

_(look at you you’re so fucking sick touching yourself to your fucking driver like some kind of pervert you should be ashamed of yourself you’re so fucking disgusting you fucking fag)_

Richie had half the mind to call up Eddie right then, and make up some bullshit excuse for him to come over. It had worked the night before, why wouldn’t it work again? _Fuck._ He’d never forgive himself for getting so beyond drunk that he didn’t even remember kissing the man who had consumed his mind since the first time they met. What if the opportunity never presented itself again? _Good fucking going, Trashmouth._

_(see you scared him away like you do to everyone else no one will ever love you you will die alone because you are ugly and worthless and)_

Richie was hit with the sudden, strong urge to have a drink. He glanced at the clock above the door frame, reading 2:31 PM. Seemed late enough, and it wasn’t like Eddie was going to be around any time soon to judge him. Fuck it. Richie lifted himself out of bed, lazily wiping his dirtied hand on his boxers. He was well aware of how badly he needed a shower, but weren’t showers usually more fun when he was drunk, anyway? He grabbed a can of warm beer that was sitting on his coffee table, cracking it open and swigging it back in a few large gulps. His eyes landed on the bag of coke, and shrugged. If he was gonna party, might as well do it right. 

A couple of beers and a few bumps later, Richie was feeling pleasantly numb, and that nasty voice was quieted again. He opened his phone back to the pictures Eddie had sent him, staring at them hungrily. He may not have remembered their first kiss, but Richie was determined to remember their next one. 

Eddie felt the rush of panic as he heard the jingling of the front door opening, signaling Myra’s return. Looking down at the obvious mess in his lap, he realized there was no way he was going to be able to explain this away. Quickly booting his computer off, not bothering to close out of the windows, he grabbed his phone and listened to the sounds from downstairs. 

_Ok good, she’s in the kitchen_ . As slowly and quietly as possible, he opened the door just a crack, wincing at the soft squeak the hinges made. _Why the fuck do doors love to taunt me??_

He stopped at the door, listening to see if Myra heard him, praying to literally everything out there that she hadn’t and would just continue with whatever she was doing. When Eddie heard no signs that she had noticed him, he continued oh-so-slowly. The sound of the blender roared, prompting Eddie to use that opportunity to yank the door open, shut it behind him. He bolted back into his and Myra’s shared bedroom, tugging at his duvet until fully buried in the covers.

“Eddie? Are you awake, sweetums??” Myra called from the staircase. The last thing he wanted was for her to come upstairs and find him and all of his semen-covered shame. He could get out of bed and quickly change, but that would require uncovering himself, and right now he would rather stay safe under his covers than for Myra to walk in on him again. 

He could feel his phone buzzing rapidly, multiple messages coming in in rapid succession. One quick look at his phone alerted him of the sender. _Fucking Richie! Not now!_

 _“_ Eddie?? Eddie bear? I’m home!” Eddie could hear the slight creak of the stairs, her voice getting louder and louder as she ascended. He gnawed ferociously on his lower lip, nervous that Myra would come up and pull him from bed, ultimately revealing his still present semi and the obvious stain of cum on the front of his underwear. He already knew she would immediately freak out, and ask endless questions. Then she would most likely see how much his phone was vibrating and demand to see it, and that would be it for Eddie.

He might be overthinking it a bit, but Eddie’s mind was working in overdrive and was doing nothing but providing the worst possible bad outcome. 

His thoughts were interrupted as Myra stepped in the room. Luckily his back was to the door so she couldn’t see his distressed face. Quickly slipping his phone under his pillow, muffling the constant buzzing, Eddie feigned sleep, wanting nothing more than for Myra to assume he was still resting and leave him alone. But of course, the universe was a bitch and loved to fuck with Eddie at every step.

“Wake up Eddie-bear, I’m making you an early dinner! I figured you haven’t eaten all day, so come downstairs and eat.” She wasn’t even that gentle with ‘rousing’ him awake, irritating him. She continued to nag, “You’ve probably been sleeping all day, that’s not good for you! You know better than that!” 

Eddie faked a groan, as if waking from a long nap. He sat up, being very careful to keep his blankets from exposing his groin.

“Yes dear, I know. I’m up now.” He let out a yawn, rubbing his face with his hand, as if to rub the sleep out of his system. He didn’t notice Myra stiffen, and fixate her gaze on his suspiciously ring-free finger.

“Eddie-bear, where’s your ring??”

The question confused him.

 _“_ Myra, what are you talking about?”

“Your _wedding band!_ Why aren’t you wearing it???” she demanded sternly.

Looking down, Eddie’s stomach dropped as he realized that his gold wedding band was indeed missing from his finger. A dark thought immediately dawned on him.

He never grabbed his wedding ring after his shower last night. 

He had left his fucking ring in Richie’s bathroom.

Quickly racking his brain to think of any plausible excuse for the absence of said ring, he could feel his anxiety starting to rise under Myra’s skeptical leer. What the fuck could he say?

“Uhhh, well. You know how I had to pick up my client?”

“Yes Edward, I remember.” He gulped at the use of his full first name; he really was in deep shit now.

“Well, he was in a really sketchy part of the city, a-a-and it was really late and really dark. So I took it off and put it in my coat pocket. I didn’t want someone to mug me or something and take my ring.” Did that sound believable? He hoped so, otherwise he was absolutely boned. He pleaded in his head that she wouldn’t try to actually find the ring in his jacket. _Please take my word for it!_

Luckily that seemed to distract Myra from the topic, as her suspicious frown morphed into that of concern.

“Oh Eddie! You must have been terrified! My poor Eddie-bear! I should really have a word with this client of yours! He shouldn’t be putting you in harm’s way like that! What right do these rich folk have on putting my poor dear husband through that!?” she cried hysterically.

“Please don’t do that, dear.”

“Well why not??” Myra pouted.

“How would it look like if my wife had to go to my client and give him a talking to? I wouldn’t be taken seriously anymore if my wife fought everyone I worked for.” Eddie commented, ignoring the slight feel of vibrations coming from under his pillow, hoping Myra was too dense to notice. “Besides, I already have to talk to his manager about these bruises!”

“Oh dear, that reminds me! I called the doctor’s office again, and was able to get you a spot tomorrow instead of having to wait until thursday!” 

“Oh….That's...uhh—Great!” _Shit._

“So when you drop off your client tomorrow, I can take you over there!” Myra stood abruptly, surprising Eddie a little at the sudden movement. “Well, I’ll let you rest a little longer, but dinner will be done soon—so don’t pass out again, dear! And take your midday pills before you head down for dinner.”

Eddie stuttered out a simple, “Yes, dear,” a loud siren going off in his head. 

Myra finally gone, Eddie jumped out of bed and ran into the master bathroom, slamming the door shut and making sure to lock it securely behind him. He whipped out his phone, which had finally stopped buzzing out of control. His notification screen showed a long list of messages and missed calls, all from Richie. Shaking his head, he scrolled through the thread of texts: 

_Eddie_ _  
_ _Eds_ _  
_ _Eduardpo_ _  
_ _Eddie spagetti_ _  
_ _I miss u_ _  
_ _come over_ _  
_ _show me what we did last night_ _  
_ _let me show u what this trashmouth can really do ;)_ _  
_ _I fuckin miss u dude_ _  
_ _why u gotta be so damn cute_ _  
_ _and so fuckin hot holy shit_ _  
_ _send more n00dz_ _  
_ _help i’m dying of thirst and the only cure is a tall drink if spgetti_ _  
_ _Eddddddie stop ignoring me i’m sad :(_ _  
_ _And horny_ _  
_ _omg dude u have such small hands_

The last message was followed by a picture of Richie’s long hand, fingers outstretched. On his pinky there was Eddie’s gold ring, barely making it past his first knuckle. Eddie went bright red at seeing this, filled with a nervous bundle of emotions that he couldn’t quite place. On one hand he was pissed at himself for leaving such an important object behind—how the _hell_ did he forget his entire fucking wedding ring? (Nevermind the fact that he had every reason to be completely distracted). 

On the other hand, something about seeing his ring on Richie _did_ something to him he couldn’t put into words—even if it was on the wrong finger. It filled him with a deep, aching sense of longing that rattled him to his core, conjuring images of a wonderfully domestic life they could live together. He thought of Richie bustling around in the kitchen instead of Myra, cooking him some real food instead of the garbage that he usually ate. He thought of Richie fussing over him when he was sick, staying in bed with him all day while they binged Netflix instead of forcing him to choke down an entire pharmacy’s worth of medication three times a day. 

Legs suddenly weak, Eddie collapsed onto the toilet, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotion that flowed over him in tsunami-like waves. He wanted to type out an angry response, to tell Richie off for playing around with such an important object, but couldn’t find the words or the energy. It wasn’t until a drop fell onto his phone screen that he realized he was silently crying, tears steadily leaking out of his eyes. None of this was fucking _fair._ Why had it taken Eddie so long to find Richie? And why had he tied himself down to a woman he had always known that he didn’t truly love? 

Like clockwork, Myra called up to him from downstairs: “Eddie-bear! Dinner is ready! Don’t forget to wash your hands before coming to the table!” 

Eddie’s face hardened as he furiously wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. He typed a quick message to Richie, not wanting him to blow his phone up again while he was eating dinner. The last thing he needed at this point was Myra snooping around his phone. 

_We’ll talk later. I’ll text you first. And don’t you fucking dare lose my ring._

Hoping that was enough to stave Richie off for at least an hour or so, Eddie splashed some water on his face before heading downstairs. He took his usual seat at the table, eyes distant as Myra set his plate in front of him. It took him a moment to focus on the food she had prepared him, mind consumed with the image of Richie wearing his ring. It wasn’t until Myra was already sitting, eating her own plate and blathering on about her day, that Eddie really looked at his food. 

“...you wouldn’t _believe_ who I ran into at Hobby Lobby today!” 

Eddie poked at what looked like a mound of green paste with distaste, sitting next to a little pile of orange mush, accompanying his usual unseasoned chicken breast—which was now cut into small, bite-sized cubes. He looked to Myra’s plate, which was laden with a generous portion of two whole chicken breasts that smelled amazing—smothered in mushrooms and gravy—as well as two small mountains of steamed peas and carrots. 

“What is this?” he asked quietly, nostrils flared. 

“It was _Jessica!_ ” Myra continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “It was her and her two boys, they sprouted _right_ up—”

“Myra. What. Is. This?” Eddie spat through gritted teeth, gesturing towards his plate with his fork. 

“It’s your dinner, Eddie-bear. What else would it be?” Myra fixed him with her signature concerned stare, reaching out to feel Eddie’s face with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling alright, dear? I think you may have bumped your head when you were roughhousing with—”

“What the _fuck_ is this? You trying to feed me fucking baby food now?” Eddie’s lip was trembling in anger suddenly, the cords in his neck tensing. 

“Edward, _language!”_ she scolded with an affronted glare. “I knew you weren’t feeling well so I just thought—” 

“Thought what? That I couldn’t chew my own damn food?” 

Eddie shoved the plate away with a look of pure disgust. 

“I don’t want this garbage. I’d rather starve.” 

One look at Myra and he immediately regretted his outburst; her eyes had filled with tears, cheeks growing redder by the second. It was only a moment before she burst into full-bodied sobs, burying her face in her hands as she wailed. 

“I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE YOU HAPPY!!!!” 

“Myra—” 

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE YOU WANT FROM MEEEEE!!” 

“Myra, I’m sorry—” 

And then before Eddie could stop her, Myra picked up her own plate and threw it against the wall. Eddie flinched at the noise it made as the plate shattered on impact, bits of chicken, carrots and peas splattering in all directions. The shards tumbled to the floor, breaking up even more as the mix of food dripped sickeningly on top of the broken china. 

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?!” she bellowed, reaching for Eddie’s plate. 

He grabbed her wrists, firmly holding them down to stop her from repeating the action and creating an even bigger mess. 

“Myra! I’m sorry!” he cried, meeting her wet eyes with his own. “Please, I didn’t mean it.” 

She sniffled miserably, bottom lip quivering pathetically. 

“I-I wah-was just truh-trying to help yuh-you feel better,” she stuttered, collapsing heavily into his arms. 

“I know, dear,” he said, patting her hair awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I’m sorry. I think I just need to lie down some more. I’ll clean up in here and meet you in bed.” 

Myra gave him a strange look then, a cross between pity and contempt. 

“Oh, you won’t be sleeping in our bed tonight,” she said softly, her voice suddenly much steadier. There was a sudden shift to her demeanor as she coldly pulled away from him, fixing Eddie with an icy stare. “Not after your behavior tonight. I think you earned yourself some time on the couch. You can come back to our bed when you’ve learned your lesson, mister.”

She stood from the table then, huffing as she waddled out of the room. Eddie stared after her incredulously, unsure of what the hell had just happened. 

Eddie felt that earlier seed of guilt sprout even more as he stared at the disgusting mess on the ground. Looking back, he didn’t have to react how he did. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d blended his food, so what was it that made him react so strongly this time around? And now he was back to the couch. His back already felt stiff just from thinking about having to spend the night on that sofa—a leather sectional with individual reclining seats that did _not_ make for a good bed. 

He looked around him, observing the disaster of a dining room that Myra had left in her wake. He let out a sigh as he knelt down and carefully started picking up the broken shards of ceramic from the broken plate, his hands still shaking from what had just happened. He didn’t want to leave the room like this, and definitely didn’t want to think about Myra’s reaction if he didn’t have it cleaned up come morning time.

As he continued to slowly clear up the floor of remaining plate pieces, and various pieces of food, he didn’t notice his eyes welling up, and the eventual streams of salt flowing down, dripping on the floor he was currently sweeping. Soft hiccups escaped him, as he tried so hard to stay silent, not wanting Myra to emerge once again and find him crying.

The thought that Myra had always been like this, had never bothered him—until now. He had always gone along with her actions—until now. Never did he speak to her in a raised voice—until now. He knew he'd occasionally seen the similarities that his wife shared with his mother, but he had never realized just how _infantilizing_ Myra’s actions were, how downright patronizing she was. He was a full grown man who could chew his own food. He was grossly insulted that Myra could even think that he would need help with a human function so simple as chewing. Even now, the thought made him boil with indignancy. 

Pushing the last chair in place, he looked around, seeing the dining room back to its usual tidiness. All at once he was consumed with the overwhelming need to destroy it, to grab every single plate in the china cabinet against the wall and smash them the way Myra had done so easily to her own. The frustration and despair he felt in that moment did make him reach for the chair he had just pushed into place, ready to take it and just throw it against the wall. How else could he make his surroundings match the way he felt? 

Eddie froze, realizing how wet his cheeks were. 

How long had he been crying? 

Looking over to a mirror on the wall, an almost unrecognizable man looked back. Eyes red with prominent purple bags underneath, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead and dampened his hair. He looked tired. Defeated. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to stand being in a marriage with such a lack of warmth, love, and respect—all things he had felt being with Richie. Richie was everything Myra wasn’t and more, and the thought that they hadn’t met sooner in life made the tears return. He looked up once more at the mirror.

God, he looked so _pathetic._

He needed a hot shower, and a goddamn drink. Looking at the clock on the stove, the time 9:57 blared in red led lights. He hadn’t realized it had taken him so long to clean up Myra’s mess. There was a tenseness in his shoulders that knew would only get worse after his impending night on the couch. His mind trailed back to last night, to how comfortable Richie’s bed had been. He absentmindedly wondered if the comedian had any more weed that he would be willing to share. 

Richie.

 _Fuck, I need to text him back,_ Eddie thought to himself as he made a face at the not-so-great odor coming from his pits. _After I clean myself up._

He stepped in the guest bathroom, not wanting to go into his own, and risk seeing a surely still-angry Myra. Thanking himself for being sure to keep this rarely used shower stocked with a generic soap and shampoo, Eddie jumped in and out as fast as he could. He didn’t want to wait longer than he had to talk to Richie again after that stressful not-dinner with Myra. 

Phone on hand, Eddie happened to hear the water running in the shower upstairs. Heart-pounding, he took the opportunity to sneak into their room and grab some fresh clothes—all the while praying to everything possible she wouldn’t step out and see him in just a towel. 

Successfully obtaining some clean sweatpants and a fresh pair of underwear, he bolted to the sanctuary that was his office to finally change. The whole ordeal did nothing to quell the anxiety he felt rising, his breathing slightly labored. 

“Fuck, I hope he’s still awake,” Eddie murmured under his breath as he took a seat and clicked his phone on, glad to see that Richie had at least heeded his last text. 

_You still awake? Sorry that took so long._

Eddie pressed send and set the phone down, waiting anxiously, hoping that Richie was still up. Richie usually did the trick to distract him and calm him down—and after what happened with Myra, he desperately needed to hear from him. 

He continued to stare daggers at his phone, his leg bouncing in nervousness. He practically flew out of the chair to grab his phone as he heard the familiar ding of an incoming text.

_Eddie! I missed youuuuu_

And before Eddie could respond, he received another text. And another, and another.

 _I wanna see youuuuuu come ovrrrrr_ _  
_ _Im so fuking horny rn_ _  
_ _I wanna see ur cute eddie face_ _  
_ _tell me what i did last night_ _  
_ _tell me so i can do it againnnn_

Eddie quickly silenced his phone at the onslaught of messages. He quickly typed his response before Richie could spam his phone again.

_I can’t come over, I don’t want Myra thinking I’m sneaking out at night._

_But I wanna see youuuuu_

An idea popped into Eddie’s head—beyond risky, but he was filled with an overwhelming urge to see the comedian in anyway possible, the feeling of longing tempting him to just say, _Fuck it._ His fingers didn’t even give him time to think as they were already typing out his thoughts, and pressing send before he had any say.

_What if we FaceTimed? We would have to be very quiet._

Eddie couldn’t even set his phone down before it was already buzzing with Richie’s reply.

 _Awwww but I want you here in person :(_ _  
_ _I guess virtual eddie is beter than no eddie tho <3 _

Eddie thanked his past self for silencing his phone, as the notification of an incoming FaceTime call caught him by surprise. He really was very on edge. Heart thudding heavily, Eddie stared at his phone in panic; he hadn’t expected Richie to call him so fast—hell, he wasn’t even wearing a shirt yet. But his phone continued to buzz demandingly, and Eddie could see the panic on his own face in his reflection on the screen. It was too late to back down now; it _had_ been Eddie’s idea in the first place—so he swiped across to answer the call. 

Richie’s face filled his screen, blinking dimly from behind his glasses. He brightened upon seeing Eddie, face splitting into a wide smile. The camera then moved as Richie seemed to place his phone down on his coffee table, perched on the edge of his couch. Even through the not-so-great quality of the video chat, the sight of his grin was enough to take Eddie’s breath away. He propped his phone against his computer tower, leaning back to get a better view. 

“Edddddie!!” he blurted excitedly. “Fuck—I miss you, man.” 

“Keep it down,” Eddie hissed, listening for any signs that Myra had heard him. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?” 

“But how do you expect me to keep quiet when you look like _that?”_

Richie gestured up and down with one hand, bringing a small flush to Eddie’s cheeks. He felt a little of the tension in his chest fade away slightly as Richie flashed that smile again. 

_“Fuck,”_ Richie muttered, and Eddie could see his eyes traveling down his bare chest. “Was that—did we—did I _really_ do all that?” 

The shorter man looked down to the line of love marks traveling down his skin, a blossoming mix of red and purple hues. He was forcibly reminded of how they had gotten there, of Richie’s teeth and lips, and any earlier thoughts of Myra and how she treated him were suddenly the furthest thing from Eddie’s mind. 

“Yeah,” was all he said in response, swallowing hard. 

“You look so fucking _good._ Like—holy fuck, man. _”_ Richie’s voice had dropped somehow lower, rough and full of desire. It made Eddie shiver. “What else did I do?” 

“A lot.” 

Richie laughed then, a hearty sound that warmed Eddie to his core. 

“Liiiiiike?” 

“You _seriously_ don’t remember?” Eddie was concerned, not liking the idea that he had come so close to being intimate with a blackout drunk Richie. “Were you really _that_ fucked up?” 

“Well maybe if you—you could help jog my memory a little bit—so then I can remember putting my trashmouth all over you.” 

Richie winked then, and Eddie was nearly ashamed by how easily it made him just melt. 

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he breathed, nervously running one hand through his hair. “You don’t even remember almost killing me again?” 

_“What?”_

“Yeah, we smoked a joint and I almost had an asthma attack,” Eddie admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t have my inhaler so it could have gotten real bad—”

“WE _WHAT?!”_ Richie nearly yelled, eyes wide. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDDING!”

“Richie if you don’t keep your fucking voice down I’m going to actually kill you,” Eddie seethed. 

“Fuck—I’m sorry, dude. I just can’t believe—you and me— _you_ smoked weed with me and I can’t even fucking remember it. I’ll never forgive myself.” Richie shook his head, slapping one hand to his face in his disappointment. “Was it good—how did you like it? Man, I bet you were fucking stoned off your _gourd.”_

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, and Richie’s grin grew at the sound. 

“I mean, besides almost dying? I guess I can’t really complain. You made it nice.” 

“Oh, yeah? And then?” Richie pressed, shifting excitedly. 

Eddie thought that the fabric of his crotch looked a little tight, but decided he it was just wishful thinking, or a trick of the light. That didn’t stop his own cock from jumping in anticipation as he continued: 

“Well, uh, you told me you had a secret.” 

“Oh, _God.”_ Richie shook his head, lips pressed into a bashful grin that nearly made Eddie swoon like a hormonal teenager. “I guess I really was fucking plastered. I mean I’m kinda drunk right now, not gonna lie, but not _that_ bad—yeesh. Let me guess, next I told you how I fucking—how I think you’re like, the hottest person I’ve ever seen—or something equally as embarrassing.” 

“You said you wanted to suck my cock,” Eddie corrected him, shivering again as he thought of Richie’s lips pressing against his own for the first time, hot and desperate and _hungry._

“You’re fucking _kidding._ I did _not.”_

Richie actually looked shocked, brows raised and mouth slightly agape. That now very familiar arousal was building in Eddie’s gut as he replayed the night before for the thousandth time, and at this point he wasn’t surprised to feel himself gradually stiffen. Richie’s eyes slid downward, and Eddie was aware of how very obvious his growing erection was through the fabric of his grey sweatpants. 

“And then you kissed me. Hard. Twice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You convinced me to stay over, and then you pushed me against that couch and put your mouth all over my neck, and chest, and—fuck, Richie.” Eddie didn’t know what possessed him to start rubbing himself through his pants, chest rising and falling shallowly. He could see now that Richie was indeed hard, the outline of his cock very clear through the fabric of his jeans. “You don’t know how bad I wanted it.” 

“How bad you wanted what?” 

Richie’s hand was working his belt off now, and Eddie found himself focusing on his long fingers as they hurriedly unzipped his pants. 

“You.” 

Richie gasped slightly then as he shoved his hand into his underwear. 

“Oh, yeah? What did you want me to do?” 

Eddie groped his length through his sweatpants, reminding himself of how Richie had done the same thing less than twenty-four hours prior. 

“I wanted your trashmouth all over my cock,” Eddie moaned. Unable to contain himself anymore, he shoved his pants down enough to expose himself, and the utterly enraptured look Richie gave him then made it more than worth it. 

_“Jesus, fuck, Eddie.”_ Richie let out a deep moan that vibrated through Eddie’s entire body, his hand pumping his visibly hard dick underneath his underwear at a rapid pace. “Fuck—tell me what else you want.”

Eddie, having thrown shame out the window, arranged his phone on his desk just so, providing Richie a full view of himself becoming unwound under his molten gaze, his hand stroking himself in abandon. “I wah—I wanna know how you taste, I want to choke on your cock _so bad._ ” 

Eddie tossed his head back, forgetting for a second that he wasn’t alone in this house, and let out the neediest whine he didn’t realize he was capable of making.

Richie hungrily drank in Eddie as he unraveled, and he had never taken in such an addicting sight. He greedily took it in, wanting to commit it to memory to forever live rent-free in his mind. His breathing became labored as he continued pumping his red hard cock for all it was worth. 

“ _Oh God Eddie,_ keep talkin’— _what that mouth do?”_

“Oh my god—shut the fuck up. I’m gonna hang up on you and I’ll finish myself!”

“No! No, sorry I couldn’t resist.” Richie let out a snort. “I promise I’ll be good, babe, keep going.”

Eddie didn’t know why, but Richie calling him ‘babe’ did something _delicious_ to him. He didn’t know he could have become even more hungry for the idiot on the phone screen, but here he was, having to hold back to keep himself from finishing right then and there.

“ _Fuck Richhhhh.”_

Eddie could feel himself getting close, smearing the fluid that had formed at his tip with every pump of his cock. His breathing came out in short bursts, letting out whines and low groans. The view he himself was being treated to was just as good as he could have ever imagined. Richie’s glasses were skewed as he pumped in tandem with Eddie, soft groans coming from the man. His hair became even more unkempt and wild, sticking slightly on his forehead from his sweat. Eddie wanted to bury his face in that wild mane, needing to drown in that arousing musk once more. He wanted to run his mouth across his present stubble, latching onto the smooth skin of his neck. He wanted to cover Richie’s neck in just as many marks as he had, if not more. The thought of marking Richie as his own, for the world to see, brought him that much closer to completion, pushing him right to the edge.

“Shit, Eddie, baby, keep going. You look so good, so fucking good.” Richie himself was so, so, so _close,_ thighs trembling from sheer pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to be there in person, to feel Eddie’s body with his own hands, to be the sole reason for Eddie looking so severely wrecked. 

“Fuck, Richie—you make me so fuckin’ _hard._ Ahhhhh, Rich— _I want you to fuck me_ —I just want—”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie— _fuck!_ So good babe, keep going—I’m close, I’m so close!”

Eddie submerged himself in Richie’s gritty voice, solely focusing on Richie’s deep timbre. His hips bucked sporadically into his hand, desperately seeking that sweet end. He continued to moan out Richie’s name, the thought of being heard now far from his mind—all he cared about right now was watching Richie’s face as he neared orgasm, aware of Richie’s own starving gaze consuming his every word and motion as though his life depended on it. 

“Richie, FUCK, I’m— I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, baby. Go ahead, you can cum. Fucking cum for me.”

Eddie’s orgasm finally hit him like a freight train, bringing tears to his eyes from the sheer intensity. He cried out as strings of hot cum covered his abdomen. As much as his orgasm took out of him, he willed himself to keep eye contact with Richie as the taller man came to his own completion with a guttural groan, hand becoming sticky. Eddie swiped at his cum-coverd stomach with his fingers gently. Knowing he still had Richie’s undivided attention, he held that gaze as he slowly sucked each digit clean. He had never in his life tasted his own cum and felt absolutely _filthy_ , revelling in the way Richie couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from him. 

“Holy shit Eddie, you’re actually gonna be the death of me—I _just_ came, you’re gonna fuckin’ make me hard again,” Richie whined.

“Well I guess you’re just going to have to try and keep up.” Eddie smirked, a brow arching challengingly. The sight caused Richie’s mouth to dry out in need, and for him to gulp audibly. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve created a monster?” 

Eddie could only grin, still very much riding the high of his orgasm. 

“Just means you’re going to have to take responsibility, _Trashmouth.”_

The tone of Eddie's voice when he uttered those words lowered into an almost purr. Eddie peering at the spectacled man with a hooded gaze, who gazed back with such a warm expression, it caused an unexpected fluttering in his chest.

He had never had someone look at him the way Richie did—had never had someone look at him with such desire, with such a heated gaze filled with promise. Eddie never considered himself a particularly attractive man—in his opinion, he was average at best. But the fire behind Richie’s stare made him think otherwise. It made him feel so good, like he was the sexiest man to ever walk the Earth. It really gave him quite an ego boost he hadn’t realized that he needed, and made him bolder, open to explore this side of him he’s never entertained. 

“You got so quiet Eddie—where’s that spitfire, hmm?”

The inquiry brought him back to his office, practically naked, talking to Richie. Fuck, he was really out of it. 

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“Of me, I hope—otherwise I’d think I bored you with our little moment just now.” Richie smirked, canines flashing, and in the back of Eddie’s mind, he wondered what it would feel like to have those teeth mark him up all over. Again. Eddie shivered as Richie’s eyes raked up and down, obviously loving what he saw. “But given the noises you made, I’d say you enjoyed it.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself,” Eddie scoffed. “It was _okay,_ I guess.”

“You were sooo into it, admit it!” Richie teased. “You were like ‘ _oh fuck, Richie I’m so hard for you baby, oh my God.’”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

As mind blowing as it truly was, Richie did not need an ego boost, and the smirk Richie had on was starting to annoy him. And he was _very_ annoyed by how good that impression was of him (so good that he wondered if Richie had practiced it). Sure, Eddie had jerked off more in the last 48 hours than he had in the last decade. And sure, that was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever had, and Richie hadn’t even been in the same room as him. But Eddie would be damned before he let his client get any cockier than he already was. 

“You’re such a bad liar,” Richie pestered, eyes still hungrily drinking in the sight of Eddie, forehead slick with sweat and cum shining on his stomach. “Fuck, I can’t wait to see you again. You got anything going on tomorrow? You can come to my place during the day. It’ll be way less fishy.” 

Eddie was just about to agree, when he remembered the appointment Myra had set up for him. He visibly crumpled, shoulders falling as the thought of his wife sobered him for a moment. He reached over and grabbed a tissue, furiously wiping away the semen on his stomach before it dried down completely and he’d have to take another shower. Richie groaned in disappointment.

“I can’t tomorrow. Myra’s taking me to the doctor to get these checked out.” He gestured at the hickeys on his chest. 

“What?? I thought you were kidding, there’s _no way_ she doesn’t know what those are.” 

“Well, we better be glad that she doesn’t, otherwise I don’t know what she would do if she suspected the truth.” Eddie’s voice faltered then, feeling that hot well of guilt in his gut bubbling over. He sighed heavily, the afterglow from his orgasm vanishing completely. “Fuck, Rich. What are we doing?” 

“We’re just dudes being bros,” Richie tried to joke. When Eddie didn’t respond, he quickly continued: “Hey, man. Don’t think about it too hard. Something that feels _this_ good can’t be that bad, right? Besides, how’s she gonna find out? I mean, if she looks at those hickeys and thinks you got them from a bar fight, she must be pretty fuckin’ dense.” 

“I guess,” Eddie said quietly, sounding very much not convinced. 

He again thought of the cruelness of it all, meeting Richie this late in life, at a time when he was the furthest thing from available possible. He wanted to voice this to Richie, to ask him why things couldn’t be easier, to find some kind of comfort in knowing that the taller man felt the same—but there was a part of him, deep inside, that was afraid. Afraid that Richie didn’t feel as deeply as he did, that this was all just some game, just another hookup for a celebrity that could quite literally land anyone he wanted. The concern must have been etched deeply into his face, because Richie’s voice broke through his thoughts, low and soothing: 

“Eds. Listen to me. We’re gonna be _fine._ Just make it through the doctor’s appointment, and maybe you can swing by my place afterward? I can roll up another joint. Teach you how to smoke so that way you _don’t_ die with every hit.” 

Eddie considered the night prior, how nice it had been to just bask in Richie’s presence while they sat in contented silence, passing the joint back and forth until it was finished. The idea was a tempting one, and the thought of getting to see Richie again—in person, hopefully _not_ blackout drunk—was enough to raise his spirits again, even if just a little. 

“Fine,” Eddie agreed. “I’ll let you know when I’m leaving the doctor. I’ll just tell Myra I have to pick you up for work or something.” 

_“Fuck yeah!”_ Richie almost yelled, balking at the venomous look that Eddie threw him. “Oh shit, sorry. I mean—” his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper “— _fuck yeah._ It’s a date.” 

Eddie’s cheeks went bright red at the declaration, heart pounding at the word. 

“Whatever,” he tried to say nonchalantly, but the sheepish grin that spread across his face said otherwise. “I should try to get some sleep, the appointment is probably really early knowing Myra.” 

“Wow, you’re really gonna cum and go like that?” Richie jested, trying and failing to not laugh at his own bad joke. 

“Oh my _God_ , do you ever shut up?” 

“‘Fraid not, Eddie Spaghetti, talking shit is my profession.”

 _“Don’t_ call me that,” Eddie chided good-naturedly. “Ok, I really gotta go now. See you tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be counting the minutes until we speak again. Goodnight, sweet prince!” Richie blew him the biggest, wettest kiss he could manage, and although Eddie rolled his eyes in response, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening as some of the tension left his shoulders. 

“Goodnight,” was all that he could manage to say, finding it very hard to end the call. 

Eddie thought back to what Richie had said, that something that felt that good couldn’t be that bad. He held on to those words, futilely hoping that it would help quell the guilt still present in his gut. As much as he couldn’t stand how Myra treated him, it still made him feel gross to think that he was actively lying to her. He also worried about how she would react if she did find out about this thing he had with Richie. Would she throw him out into the streets, taking everything he had to his name—like those court TV shows she constantly watched? Would she act like nothing happened, and ignore all the obvious signs in front of her? Eddie didn’t have a point of reference to gauge it, which made everything even more terrifyingly uncertain. 

_Fuck, it’s too late to be thinking this hard._ Eddie rubbed his face with his hand, wiping the sweat off his brow. _I just need to sleep. I’ll figure it out tomorrow._

Grabbing a blanket from the hallway closet, he did his best to get comfortable on the couch. He groaned, already thinking about how much more stiff his back would be in the morning.

 _Maybe Richie could help fix that tomorrow if I see him._ Eddie thought hopefully of what Richie’s big hands would feel like, rubbing slow circles into the aching muscles of his back. His mind drifted back to the FaceTime call, and remembering how delectable Richie looked on the brink of an orgasm. 

His phone buzzed, and Eddie looked to see his client had sent him a photo. He opened it to be gifted with a nice clear picture of a shirtless Richie in bed, a devilish smirk on his lips, and a clear view of his molten brown eyes, his face void of his typical clunky thick glasses. 

_Wish you were here_ _  
_ _;)_

Eddie took a moment to appreciate the photo, and made sure to really take it in. Not to be an absolute fucking sap, but Eddie could look into those deep eyes for days, and never get tired. The amount of warmth present in them was something he’d never seen, not even from Myra. He knew Myra cared about him—but, especially due to recent actions, he’s started to realize that Myra’s idea of love was nearly unsettling to him. Eddie was almost like a possession she had to take care of, with no bodily-autonomy for himself to speak of. It killed him that it took meeting a messy, obnoxious, stupid comedian for him to realize how unhappy he was with his life, and how useless he felt on a daily basis. 

With Richie on his mind, the dark blanket of sleep finally settled over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We actually ended up having to split this chapter in half because it was too damn long! So another update is right around the corner folks ;) buckle up butter cup, the fun's just beginning -lynds 
> 
> Here's another chapter that just wrote itself and went off the rails. Not our fault these boys be horny for each other 24/7-Bats


	5. Richie's Big Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world of Richies and Eddies, don’t be a Myra or a Steve.
> 
> TW: Graphic depictions of sex, graphic depiction of violence, gore, body horror, myra has a mommy kink, abuse, homophobic slurs, drug use, alcohol use, non con elements/non con touching

Eddie yawned a bit as he padded over to the kitchen, a soft grey robe wrapped around his body. The only thing on his mind was getting some caffeine and maybe some eggs into his system, and he didn’t have the heart to wake up the other house occupant. 

Pouring a hefty cup of black coffee, he took a sip, revelling in the velvety bitter taste. He got to work on making breakfast, already knowing that soon he would hear footsteps coming down the stairs, sleepy legs carrying his partner down at the smell of food. 

He kept stirring the scrambled eggs, not paying attention to the figure entering the kitchen until warm arms circled his waist. Eddie jumped a bit in surprise, but upon recognizing the stubble scratching his neck, and the familiar scent of aftershave, a soft smile formed on his lips.

“It’s early for you; you got in pretty late last night.”

Richie let out a big yawn, nuzzling deeper into Eddie’s neck, and let out a tired groan. Eddie chuckled, knowing Richie was absolutely useless in the morning without a heaping cup of liquid caffeine.

“Coffee’s ready, love. Go and pour yourself some, breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Mmmm, you’re the best, Spageds.”

With a quick kiss on the cheek, and a soft smack to Eddie’s ass, Richie went to grab the coffee pot. 

“Use a cup, Rich. This is a house, not a barn,” Eddie nagged, not even having to look up from the stove to know Richie was about to drink straight from the pot. Richie let out a chuckle, knowing his fiance had eyes in the back of his head.

“Sure thing, babe” Richie said, drinking from the pot anyway. 

Eddie let out an exasperated sigh, looking to Richie with a fond and amused smile. He turned off the stove, scooping the eggs into a plate, before grabbing a mug from the cabinet, and snatching the coffee pot from Richie’s mitts to pour the man a cup.

“You’re ridiculous, Rich.”

“You love me though.”

Richie grinned, leaning down to give Eddie a soft peck on the lips. Eddie hummed in appreciation, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of Richie’s lips on his own, before pulling away and continuing to make breakfast.

Richie sat down on an island bench, enjoying his cup of morning joe. “Oh, hey! So I got my ring in the mail yesterday!”

“Oh yeah? I think mine should be in next week.”

“Yeah, but I think they got my size wrong.” 

Richie grabbed an open package sitting on the kitchen island, digging out its contents.

“Oh shit, does it fit, or do we have to go get it resized?” Eddie placed the finished eggs, along with some bacon and flapjacks in front of Richie, grabbing a seat next to him.

“Well….” Richie raised his hand to show Eddie. A gold ring sat on his pinkie, barely fitting past the first knuckle.

Eddie couldn’t help the wide smile that cracked across his face at the sight of the absurdly small ring on his fiance’s finger.

“I think that one is probably mine.” 

“Seriously? I dunno, it looks pretty perfect on me, don’t you think?” Richie waggled his eyebrows, waving his fingers through the air. 

“That’s one way to put it,” Eddie conceded, spearing some eggs on his fork and taking a good bite. “Well if that one’s mine, I’m sure yours will be here soon enough. We can wait to wear them together, if you want.” 

Richie shrugged, removing the ring from his finger. 

“Maybe I’ll just wear this one ‘til my real one comes in,” he suggested, holding it up to his eye to look at Eddie through it. “It’ll be like carrying around a little piece of you.” 

“God, you’re such a sap,” Eddie said through his mouthful of eggs, rolling his eyes. But there was a warmth in his chest that spread as he looked at Richie, who had put the ring back on his pinkie and was observing it fondly. 

“What? I can’t help it if I’m _desperate_ to be Mr. Tozbrak already.” 

“Ok, for the last time—we are _not_ combining our last names.” Eddie put his fork down. “I said yes to the DeLorean instead of the limo, but I draw the line at Tozbrak.” 

“What about—”

 _“And_ Kaspbzier. Either one of us takes the other’s name, or we hyphenate like _normal_ people,” Eddie insisted, hand chopping through the air in agitation. 

“Ugh, _fine,”_ Richie conceded, before swallowing almost an entire pancake whole. Eddie watched in awe and slight concern as he choked it down, before inhaling a few strips of bacon. “You’re lucky you’re such a good cook. I guess I’ll just have to settle for being Mr. Kaspbrak. Richie Kaspbrak. Yeah, that’s got a _ring_ to it. Mr. Richard Kaspbrak.” 

Shaking his head at the bad pun, Eddie felt that warmth spread to his face as he listened to Richie say that name over and over, with different inflections and enunciations, different accents and dialects. He could listen to this all day: Richie’s voice laughing and uttering “ _Mr. Kaspbrak”_ over and over again, like he was trying it on for size, and loving the way it fit. His heart filled with a happiness like none he had ever known, and he was nearly trembling with the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. There were tears in his eyes now, different from the ones he had become familiar with in his life, ones that signaled complete and utter joy. He had finally found himself, finally felt complete and whole, and it was all thanks to Richie Tozier. 

_“Mr. KASPbrak. Mr. KaspBRAk. Mr. KAspBRak. Mr. KaspbrAK.”_

It wasn’t until Myra waved her hand in front of his face that he was forced back into reality at a jarring rate. The voice that he had thought to be Richie was rudely revealed to be that of the receptionist at his primary care physician’s office, calling his name to let him know that it was time for him to be seen by his doctor. 

“Eddie-bear, how long have they been calling you?” Myra simpered in alarm, gripping his arm tightly. “Are you hearing alright? We need to have Dr. Barnes take a look at your ears as well. Or maybe it’s a head injury, you have been acting _very_ strange since you got all of those nasty bruises. Hurry, we need the doctor to see you right away!” 

She all but yanked Eddie to his feet, leading him through the swinging door and into the hallway that led to the examination room. With legs like lead, each step towards that room filled Eddie with dread. What would the doctor say when he saw his chest covered with what were so obviously hickeys? The only thought keeping him afloat was the idea that he was going to get to see Richie again today. All he had to do was make it through that appointment in one piece. 

Upon reaching the room, Myra immediately grabbed the familiar blue gown that was waiting for Eddie and thrust it into his hands. 

“Here, put this on,” she instructed, as if Eddie didn’t do this every single time they came to this office. 

He complied silently, however, resisting the urge to turn his back to Myra as he undressed as quickly as he could. He slipped the gown on, and reached back to tie it closed, when his wife batted his hands away. She tied it shut herself, before turning Eddie around to face her, concern in her eyes. 

“We’re going to figure out what’s wrong with you, my Eddie-bear,” she said seriously, cupping his face in her hands. “I’ll make sure Dr. Barnes takes very good care of you.” 

“Yes, dear,” was all that Eddie could say, mouth dry. 

“Where _is_ he? He should have been here by now. Nurse!” Myra called to a person walking past the door. 

“Yes, ma’am?” the nurse asked, slowing down and popping his head into the room. “Is everything alright over here?” 

“No, my _husband_ —” Eddie mentally flinched at the word. “—and I have been waiting entirely too long. We need to see Dr. Barnes _now.”_

Eddie could see the nurse working his hardest to not reply in the same condescending tone that his wife had just used. 

“Of course, ma’am. Dr. Barnes will be here right away.” 

He left before Myra could get another word, leaving her fuming about human decency and the importance of professionalism and punctuality. Eddie tuned her out, focusing on anything but the grating sound of her nagging voice. He eventually landed on one of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, one of the long tubes flickering slightly every couple of minutes. He didn’t want to think about Myra, and he sure as hell didn’t want to think about his FaceTime call with Richie. This was not the time to think about Richie’s face as he was on the brink of orgasm, brows drawn, lips parted, breath short and labored. He didn’t want to think about how Richie had looked at him, like he was the only man on Earth, the way he made him feel like someone who was actually worth something. Like he was loved.

Did he love him? 

Is it possible to love someone in such a short amount of time of knowing them? To have such a connection to someone from the start? Eddie never really felt any sort of intensity for Myra, so he didn’t really have anything to compare it to—but something deep in his mind knew that whatever he felt for him, it was strong.

“How long are we going to wait for this doctor? Doesn’t he know he has patients to see??” Myra sat beside Eddie, continuing to grumble and huff. Eddie himself just wanted to get this over with. Hopefully the doctor would just see bruises, and prescribe him a good painkiller or something. Knowing his luck, though, this appointment wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he’d like.

“I’m sure he’s coming soon, Myra,” Eddie stated in what he hoped was a calm voice, wanting nothing more than for Myra to stop griping. He was already jittering with anxiety as it was, and her impatience was not helping in the slightest.

After what felt like hours (but was probably more like 10 minutes), a stout, middle aged man came into the room. 

“Hello—”

“Finally! We had an appointment a long time ago, how long were you going to make my Eddie-bear wait??” Myra stood up upon seeing the doctor, an accusatory finger pointing towards the shorter man.

“I-I do apologize, Mrs. Kasbrak. I was slightly delayed by my previous patient, I hope you can understand.” Dr. Barnes cowered slightly at Myra’s threatening stance. Eddie felt somewhat bad for the man, knowing what it felt like to be in his position. “So what seems to be the issue, Mr. Kaspbrak?” 

“Uhh, well—I have these marks on my chest,” Eddie started, hoping that Myra would calm down and let the appointment proceed. He had better things to do right now than be there, and wanted out as quick as possible.

“My poor Eddie-bear has the nastiest bruises, Doctor! They don’t look normal!”

“Well let’s take a look, then. Mr. Kasbrak, may I?” Eddie removed the gown from the top of his body, revealing the now deep purple marks dotted across his chest. 

“Aren’t they horrible? Oh, my poor Eddie-bear!” Myra wailed.

“Mrs. Kasbrak, I’m going to need you to wait in the waiting area. I cannot have you yelling like that in here, you’ll disturb the other patients.” Dr. Barnes turned to Myra, letting Eddie put the gown back on.

“But doctor—”

“Myra, just do what the man says, I’ll be fine,” Eddie sighed.

“Fine! I’ll be waiting just outside, Eddie-bear. Yell out if you need me!” Myra pouted, and left the room. 

Once the door was shut, the doctor made sure the door was fully closed before turning back to Eddie.

“Now, Mr. Kasbrak. You and I both know what those are.”

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie knew he wasn’t going to get away with this, but there was no way he was going to admit it out loud to his doctor of all people.

“Don’t worry, I can spot the difference between normal bruising and a hickey—but from your wife’s reaction, I’m assuming she isn’t quite as sharp.”

Eddie’s face reddened in shame. It was one thing to do these things in secret, but it was something else entirely to have your dirty laundry aired out in the open like this.

“I guess that’s what you’re going to tell her, huh,” Eddie muttered in a defeated tone. The pit of guilt, and the shame of being found out like this caused a bitter taste to spread in Eddie’s mouth. What was he going to do now?

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to tell her a thing!” the doctor declared. 

“Huh??” 

Eddie was so confused.

“Imagine if someone ratted me out to _my_ wife like that,” Dr. Barnes scoffed. “Don’t worry, I’ve been there. There’s nothing wrong with getting some action on the side. And to be honest, I don’t really blame you. Your wife is a real piece of work.” The doctor chuckled. 

Was this really happening? 

Hearing what the doctor said made Eddie feel even worse. He was shocked at the lack of professionalism, how this man was acting like infidelity was so funny—like it was a game. The idea that this man thought that he and Eddie were in the same league made him feel so gross, disgusted at himself and his actions. 

“Not to worry, we all cheat every once in a while. It’s human nature,” the doctor continued, offering a leering smile full of coffee-stained teeth.

“So what about these bruises, _doctor.”_ Eddie did not want to hear this man go on anymore—it made him sick to his stomach, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. 

“Oh, those will heal up just fine, I’ll just prescribe you some placebo cream to help calm down the wife. Just make sure to tell your mistress to ease up on the love marks next time.” Eddie was mortified that the doctor kept pushing the subject, wanting nothing more for the man to just shut his mouth so he could get out of there. 

“Thank you. Is that all?” 

“Tell your wife they were small flare ups that popped up due to stress. That should satisfy her, she won’t ask any more questions.” Eddie wondered how long he would have gone without knowing how slimy his doctor was. Granted, it worked out for him since Myra would be none the wiser, but the fact that this happened at all made Eddie want to vomit. What was he doing? Was he the same as this man, taking advantage of his spouse and openly disrespecting her?

“Thank you, doctor. “ 

“Not a problem, Mr. Kasbrak. Us men have to stick together.”

_Ughh gross._

As Dr. Barnes stepped out, Eddie sat there for a second, contemplating and processing what just happened. Was he no different than men like Dr. Barnes? Sneaking behind their wives backs, taking advantage of their trust. The very thought made his skin crawl. He made quick work of dressing himself, grabbing his coat, and leaving the room. Myra was there in the waiting room, scrolling through her phone. When she saw Eddie approaching she sprang to her feet, hooking her arm around his own. 

“Oh, Eddie-bear!! What did that doctor tell you? Is it a concussion?” she fussed as they exited the office, walking toward their car. 

“Uh, no. The doctor said it’s just a flare up from stress,” he lied uneasily, avoiding her eyes as he slid into the driver seat. “He prescribed me a cream, it’ll be ready at the pharmacy in about an hour.” 

“Oh, my poor little Eddie, I can’t _believe_ how much stress that new client of yours has been causing you. Maybe you should have one of your employees drive him from now on,” Myra proposed, flipping through the radio until she found some pop song that was surely going to be stuck in Eddie’s head for the rest of the day. 

“Uh, I don’t know Myra,” Eddie replied nervously, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He pulled out of the parking lot, heading towards their home so he could drop Myra off before heading to Richie’s condo. “His manager did request for me specifically. He’s a pretty high-profile client. Can’t have just anyone on this kind of job.” 

“Hmmmm,” was all that he got in response.

Myra was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home, typing endlessly into her phone. Eddie tried to maintain his focus on the road, mind still on that horrible conversation he’d had with his doctor. That entire interaction was the last way that Eddie would have guessed it would have gone—he expected the doctor to expose him, to shame him and reveal to the world that he, Edward Frank Kaspbrak, was nothing more than a lousy cheater. And yet, the man had kept his secret, even given him another lie to add to the ever growing web that he was spinning. The entire thing made him feel like the lowest of the low, someone who didn’t deserve Richie or even Myra at this point. 

So deep in thought, it took Eddie a moment to realize that they were already home, and Myra was demanding to know why he was still in the car. 

“...where do you think you’re going?!” 

“I need to go to work—” Eddie began, but was cut off by his wife’s shrill voice. 

“Oh, no you don’t! You heard the doctor, you’re _stressed_ , and you need some more time to rest.” 

“But Myra, I have a contract—” 

“And I have a doctor’s note!” She waved the little piece of paper in his face. “Just tell your terrible client that you need a sick day. I’m sure he’ll make do without you.”

“Myra do you understand how that makes me look—”

“I _don’t_ want to hear it! I’m your _wife,_ Edward Kaspbrak, I know what’s best for you,” she insisted, pulling out his full name again. 

Hoping he didn’t look as pissed and disappointed as he felt, Eddie conceded and trudged his way up to the front door, Myra bustling close behind him. 

“Now, don’t worry about your prescription, I’ll call the pharmacy and have it delivered over here right away. You and I are going to stay right here, cuddle up, and have a nice little day together. Just the two of us! And later I have a little surprise to help you _destress.”_

Eddie didn’t like the way that last sentence sounded, which was just suggestive enough that he knew exactly what Myra had planned. He could count the times they had been intimate over the last five years of their marriage on both hands, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience for him in the best of times. He had never considered himself to be a sexual person; it had always been a chore more than anything. But now, after all of the recent discoveries he’d made about himself, the thought of sex with Mrya was downright terrifying. 

“Uh, sure, honey,” was all he could manage to say in response as Myra steered him to the living room.

She practically shoved him onto their large, sectional couch, and pressed the button to recline the seat. Eddie allowed her to continue to fuss over him, bringing out a blanket and tucking him in. He didn’t complain, even though the blanket was making him too warm. He allowed her to pull up Netflix, scrolling for what felt like hours as she struggled to decide on what to watch. She passed over the very popular show _The Workplace_ , stopping for a moment to stare at the thumbnail. 

“Hey, isn’t that your client?” Myra asked, tilting her head. “I knew I’ve seen him from somewhere! He plays Dwayne in _The Workplace!”_

“No, he doesn’t,” Eddie responded, affronted that Mrya could confuse his Richie with the creepy-looking guy with the bad haircut and aviator glasses that was glaring at them from the thumbnail. “That’s someone else.” 

“Eddie, that’s _clearly_ him,” Myra insisted. “It looks just like him!” 

“Myra, that’s not him. Stop.” 

“I don’t know why you’re getting so upset when you know that I’m right!” 

“Because you’re not!” Eddie’s voice raised, and he saw Myra stiffen. 

“Look here, mister!” she whipped around on him, wagging her finger in his face. “I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but I will _not_ stand to be disrespected in my own house! All I ever do is try to help you, and this is how you treat me?!” 

“Myra, I—” 

“Ever since you started hanging around that new client of yours, you’ve been acting _so_ strange, Eddie-bear! You have me worried SICK!” Myra pouted then, crossing her arms angrily. 

Eddie hated hearing Myra talk about Richie. It filled him with an unease and anger so deep, he was afraid that he’d get consumed by these emotions if he let them. What the hell did she even know? Hell, she thought the hickeys Richie left him were from a damn bar fight for chrissakes. And then there was the pure fact that even now, she was keeping him away from the only person in the world he really wanted to be with, and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to text him and let him know that his chances of escaping Myra today were slim to none. He didn’t dare try to message him with Myra around, for fear that she’d choose today of all days to nose through his phone. 

“Myra, I’m just fine—” 

“Those _stress bruises_ say different!” she sneered. “Now we are going to have a stress-free day today if it’s the last thing I do!” 

“Yes, honey,” Eddie caved, accepting his fate for the day.

Richie spent all morning checking his phone, waiting to hear from Eddie. He didn’t say exactly when his appointment was, and Richie was regretting not asking him to clarify. He wanted to actually have his home presentable for Eddie when he got here, and knowing when to expect him would make time management a bit easier. 

Looking at his phone, he saw it was already past noon—meaning it was probably time to get a move on. It was the housekeeper’s regular day off, so he was practically on his own. Granted he hadn’t touched any Windex since college, but he wasn’t absolutely useless. How hard could it be?

He spent the majority of the afternoon cleaning, periodically checking his phone for any sign of Eddie. Quickly typing a quick message, he set his phone down and continued to push dust around the floor. He was struggling to sweep it up in a nice, neat, little pile—how the fuck did he not know how to sweep his own damn house? 

After much swearing and a lot of dirty paper towels, he looked through his house. Not as sparkly and fresh as his housekeeper left it, but it would have to do. 

He took a seat on the couch, and checked his phone one more time, only to be shocked that he had still heard no word from Eddie. It was already 7:30. What was taking him so long? Richie reminded himself that Eddie hadn’t guaranteed that he would be able to come over, but a simple text to confirm or not would have been nice. He wouldn’t have spent all that energy cleaning his entire 2 floor condo by himself, had he known. 

Slightly frustrated, and feeling a little put out, Richie grabbed a beer from his freshly-stocked fridge. He took a large swig of it, downing almost half the bottle in one go. 

Fuck it, if Eddie wasn’t coming over, there was no real reason for him to stay sober.

_(running right back to the bottle like always eddie would be so disappointed in you you useless sack of shit)_

Ahhh, he almost missed that voice. He hadn’t heard it in the last day. To be fair, he had been coked out of his mind for the most part this past week—which definitely helped. And when he wasn’t, he was talking to Eddie. He’d be a fool to not notice how the voices went away when Eddie was around to distract him.

_(you’re so fucking needy eddie’s not going to be around to rescue you all the time he doesn’t want you all you do is annoy the shit out of him like you always do with everyone who ever meets your sorry ass)_

He finished off the rest of the beer bottle, deciding it wasn’t enough. He opened his liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle at random and yanking it open. He drank straight from the bottle, downing a few bitter chugs with a scrunched face. He wanted nothing more than to shut the voice up, not wanting to feel this gut-wrenching inadequacy anymore. God, if only Eddie could see him now.

Twenty minutes and a few empty liquor bottles later, a pleasantly drunk Richie found himself lying on the couch, looking through the several photos Eddie had sent him in the past day. Roughly palming his groin, he was about to shove his hand in his pants and relieve the desperate need he felt. His phone suddenly flew out of his hands and Richie yelped in surprise as it started buzzing, Steve’s name flashing on his screen.

Quickly grabbing his phone off the floor, he contemplated declining the call. He knew that Steve would bombard his phone if he did, and he’d never hear the end of it. Adjusting his pants back to normal, he swiped his thumb across the screen to answer.

“Trashmouth Enterprises, how can I direct your call?”

 _“Haha, very funny Rich,”_ Steve responded, sounding very much unamused. _“Where the fuck have you been the past few days?? You missed your recording session today, I had to reschedule it! Do you know how hard it is to find openings?”_

“Probably as hard as my wang—OOOOOOH!” Richie cackled, not even trying to hide his slurred speech at this point. 

_“I’m serious, man! I got your director breathing down my neck. He’s almost ready to send out a search party for your ass!”_

Richie scoffed. “I don’t see what the—URRPP—big deal is with taking a little break, Steve. It’s b-been a while since—since I’ve had one.” 

Richie took a swig from a half empty bottle resting on his table.

“ _Are you drunk AGAIN?! Richie haven’t you had enough?”_ Steve griped through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“It’s just one beer, dude, relax,” Richie lied with a giggle. 

_“That’s it, I’m coming over. I’ll be there in five minutes,”_ Steve ended the call before Richie had any chance to respond. 

_Shit._ Richie did _not_ want to see Steve right now, especially with how sloshed he felt. Placing his phone on the coffee table, he brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes vigorously. The last thing he wanted was to see him moping around, depressed about not seeing his driver for one fucking day. He didn’t want anyone to see how pathetic he really was.

_(what would steve say if he knew you were jerking it almost every day to a married man who’s probably only fucking around with you for the clout)_

“Eddie would never do that,” Richie muttered, not quite aware he was speaking out loud to himself. 

_(how the fuck would you know you’ve known this guy less than a month and now you think you’re in love how could he ever love you back you’re just a pathetic faggot he hasn’t messaged you all day because you’re a terrible person who doesn’t deserve the attention he’s tired of you he has a wife)_

“Shut up.”

_(he’s probably too busy fucking her right now laughing at how much of a gullible loser you are you stupid fucking faggot)_

_“_ I said shut up,” Richie groaned, fruitlessly trying to shut out the voice by covering his ears.

_(he must think you’re such a pathetic needy whiny little piss baby he knows what you are he knows that you’re just a useless fucking faggot)_

_“I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”_

_“_ Richie? I hear you in there! Open the door!!” Richie was pulled out back to Earth at the sound of loud knocks at his door, and Steve’s voice yelling from the other side. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ Richie hissed, glancing around at the telltale bottles and white powder sitting on his coffee table. “Uh, just a minute!” 

He stumbled around trying to gather all of the empty bottles, haphazardly throwing them into the garbage can in the kitchen. He flinched at the clamorous clanging that followed, hoping that Steve hadn’t heard it through the door. His eyes fell on the fat line of coke that he had cut for himself earlier in the day, around the time he had realized that Eddie wasn’t going to be coming over that night after all. Richie jumped as Steve banged at the door again, demanding to be let in. Richie hurriedly squatted before the coffee table, snorting the line down quickly and easily, barely registering the bitterness that ran down the back of his throat. Swiping up the remaining residue, he quickly rubbed it on the back of his gums with a small grimace. He grabbed the little bag that held the remainder of his coke, sealing it carefully and shoving it into his pocket. 

“Coming!” he called out, crossing the room in a few long strides and opening the door with shaking hands, eyes wide. 

Steve pushed passed him without a word, eyes darting around the condo as if he was trying to find the evidence of Richie’s most recent binge. 

“Uh, it’s good to see you, too, Steve,” Richie muttered sarcastically, nervously running one hand through his hair as his leg jiggled fiercely. 

“Richie, what the fuck is going on?” Steve glared at him from the middle of the living room, hands on his hips. “I’ve had to cover for your ass all week. Did you forget that you still have a _job?”_

“I-I told you, man—I just needed—it’s just a small break—” 

“Cut the shit. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Steve shook his head, glaring daggers as Richie crossed the room and took a seat on the couch. “Therapy my ass. You’ve just been sitting around here getting fucked up. And _I’m_ the one that has to pay for it.” 

Richie leaned an elbow against his knee, cradling his head in his hand. He hadn’t realized just how drunk he actually was—but now, trying to talk to his very angry manager, he realized he was close to being completely wasted. Steve was harshing his buzz in the most literal of ways. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could finish attending to the erection that had not quite gone away yet, a part of his mind still on those photos that Eddie had sent him. 

“Are you even listening to me? Rich, you gotta get it together. C’mon, man. Just talk to me. What’s going on?” Steve repeated, voice softening slightly as he took a spot next to Richie on the couch. 

“I dunno, man, I guess I’m—I’ve just been, like, stressed. The yelling doesn’t help,” Richie added a little pitifully, hoping to gain his manager’s sympathy. “I just needed a few days to myself. I’ll get back to work tomorrow, Scout’s honor.” He raised his hand drunkenly to emphasize his swear. 

Richie could see Steve deciding whether or not to believe him. 

“Okay, I shouldn’t have yelled,” Steve admitted, less angry now. “I know you’re stressed, I am too. But you can’t just ghost on me like that. You got me worried about you.” 

“Aw, Steve, you don’t gotta worry about ol’ Trashmouth. I’ve survived worse.” Richie leaned into the couch then, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath in a futile attempt to sober up. He didn’t see Steve’s own eyes slide over him then, landing squarely on the fabric pulled taut across his still bulging crotch. 

Clearing his throat, Steve’s voice dropped slightly as he went on, “You know, since we’re both so _stressed_ lately, maybe we can help each other out.” 

Richie felt Steve’s hand drop heavily on his thigh, and his eyes shot open. It had been a good while since he and his manager had fucked, a habit that he knew was wrong and terrible but one that he also knew he wasn’t going to quit any time soon. It was hard being so deep in the closet, especially being a celebrity who’s life was so clearly on display for the public eye. He had tried Grindr, but almost risked being exposed by some twink who had tried to extort him. Steve had shut that down, hitting the guy with the threat of a defamation lawsuit so fast Richie was sure he had given him whiplash. Steve forbade dating apps after that, his manager insisting that it was just easier for him to take care of those particular needs for Richie.

And he took care of them, alright—just as he was now, pushing Richie against the couch with the force of his lips pressing against his neck, hand reaching down to rub his still-hardened cock through the thick fabric of his jeans. Richie blearily allowed this, heart hammering in response to the much needed stimulation that Steve was providing. He shamelessly thought of how much better this would all feel if it was Eddie who was touching him this way, Eddie who was unbuckling his pants and reaching down to stroke him like his life depended on it. 

_“Fuck,”_ Richie whimpered, hips bucking slightly into his manager’s touch. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna make you feel _sooo_ much better,” Steve murmured into his ear. 

Myra was primping and plumping Eddie’s pillow for him, planting a big kiss on his head as she cooed, “Oh, my Eddie-bear, I’m going to make you feel _sooo_ much better.” 

Eddie suppressed a grimace as he lay in their bed, not sure of how to react to Myra’s sudden, strange behavior. She had made a big show of leading him to bed, making him wait as she got ready in the master bathroom. She emerged moments later in a frilly pink negligee and matching panty that Eddie had never seen before in his life, lips painted to match the exact same shade. And as much as he wanted to be attracted to his wife in that moment, her feminie curves plumply filling out the revealing nightgown that he knew must have taken a lot for her to just put on—he just couldn’t find it anywhere in him. 

Sex between Eddie and Myra had always been a formality, more of a commitment than an act of passion. It was all very clinical: Myra would wait for Eddie in the bedroom while he readied himself, doing whatever he could until he was hard enough to proceed. He was always on top, and Myra was always on her back, laying down and allowing her husband to do all of the work. Eddie had never really derived any pleasure from those quick moments of half-hearted thrusting, more often than not pretending to finish into his hand before running away to the bathroom to “clean up” before his wife could see that he had lied. Luckily for him, Myra had learned at an early age that she was unable to conceive, so he had managed to avoid the baby-making phase that usually accompanied marriage. Eddie had never ejaculated inside of his wife, and he planned to keep it that way. 

So this new display from Myra, with the lingerie and the makeup, caught Eddie as off-guard as he had ever been. He had tried to get up, to allow Myra to take her usual spot while he got into position, but she pushed him back into his pillows, one hand planted firmly on his chest to hold him in place. 

“Oh no, Eddie-bear. We’re going to try something new tonight. Something that I think you’re going to enjoy, _very much,”_ she simpered, climbing onto the bed and kneeling besides him. “Oh, these bruises are just so _nasty._ Do you want me to kiss them and make it better?” 

Richie tried to ignore the way the room was spinning as Steve pumped his cock, drawing out another loud moan from the comedian. They were both shirtless now, Steve’s mouth wrapped around one of his nipples and sucking hard. As badly as his body wanted this, wanted the friction of Steve’s hand around the length of his erection, Richie knew deep down that this wasn’t _who_ he wanted touching him like this. His mind turned to Eddie again, and he drunkenly realized how easy it would be to imagine his manager was really his driver. They were about the same height and stature, hell, they even had similar haircuts. Richie ran his hands through Steve’s hair then—ignoring the fact that it wasn’t as thick as Eddie’s was—pressing downwards. 

It seemed Steve read the message loud and clear, mouth breaking from his chest. His hand left Richie’s cock, fingers clutching the waistband of his pants and helping him to strip down completely. He then quickly removed the remainder of his own clothes, discarding them to the side and exposing his own hardened dick. Richie registered his dim disappointment at how different his body was from Eddie’s, less defined and missing those beautiful love marks that Richie had come to obsess over. Then Steve’s mouth was on his skin again, biting the inside of his thigh _hard,_ one hand reaching out to fondle his balls and the other continuing to stroke him. 

“Holy _shit,”_ Richie whimpered, thighs tensing. “That feels so _fucking good.”_

“Hm, just wait. It gets better,” Steve promised, tongue dipping out to lap at the bead of precum that had formed in Richie’s slit.

“Is that better?” Myra asked in what Eddie assumed was meant to be a seductive manner, placing another sloppy, wet kiss to one of the marks Richie has left on his chest. 

“Uh, yes, dear,” Eddie choked out, fighting the urge to flinch away from her touch. 

Her lips moved down to the next love bite, and Eddie was sure he would actually vomit if she went any further, filled with a revulsion and disgust towards his wife with an intensity he had never felt before. The feeling of her lips pressing against the same exact spots where Richie’s had been merely two nights before, it felt wrong beyond all measure. The noises she was making—obnoxiously over dramatic moans and sighs—did nothing to help the situation, and Eddie had never been more turned off in his entire life. 

“Just relax Eddie-bear, mama will kiss the booboos better.” Eddie immediately paled, so close to losing the mush he ate for dinner.

Steve continued to lavish Richie’s hard cock with all the attention Richie was hoping for that day, even though the one he really wanted to see was still nowhere to be found. His head fell back, a salacious moan echoing throughout the living room. All he could think about was how if he focused hard enough, Steve disappeared, and Eddie took his place. He envisioned how hot the man would look, his mouth stuffed with his cock. He let out a loud groan as he imagined it was Eddie’s hand gripping at his thighs, Eddie’s fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. 

“Ho-Holy—Oh my god—S-so good,” Richie panted, gripping his fingers on the head of hair in his lap, gently pushing his mouth further and further down on his dick.

Feeling the delicious pull of his hair, Steve let out a moan, the sound vibrating across Richie’s cock and coursing throughout his whole body.

“S-SH-SHIT—God, do that a-again.”

He imagined Eddie’s eyes looking up at him in sheer amusement, power glinting in his eyes as he held Richie at his mercy. Oh god, would he gladly pay every cent he had to his name to see that expression on Eddie’s face, his cheeks hollowed from soundly sucking on the head of his dick. Steve was humming now, the vibrations on his member almost causing him to bust his load right then and there. He was so close, hips bucking as his moans increased in volume. 

Steve lifted his head, and continued pumping with his hand. A long string of saliva connected his lips to the head of Richie’s cock by a thin strand. 

“You can fuck my mouth if you want to. You _know_ you do,” he urged in a tantalizing whisper, panting heavily.

He didn’t need to tell Richie twice as he grasped the shorter man’s hair tightly, causing Steve to hiss in pain with a smirk. Feeling the warmth of his mouth enveloping him once more, Richie’s hips bucked wildly, pumping in and out of what he envisioned to be Eddie’s welcoming lips. His breath caught in his throat, and Richie could taste his orgasm on the tip of his tongue.

Eddie sharply pulled away, feeling so nauseous that he could barf right then and there at the feel of Myra’s sloppy, wet lips as they neared his flaccid penis. It was almost as if she was trying to erase the memory of Richie’s warmth from his skin. 

“What’s the matter sweetie?” Myra asked in confusion. “Do they still hurt?”

Eddie looked at Myra in obvious confusion. Even if he had never been overly sexual with Myra, she never pushed for more or done anything like this. Her actions were so far out of the ordinary that Eddie was shell shocked, unsure of how to react. 

“I just want to know what brought this on.”

“What do you mean? I’m just trying to make you feel good, Eddie-bear.” Myra pouted. “We haven’t been together in a while, I missed you.” Eddie shivered in absolute discomfort as he could feel Myra trace her finger up his inner thigh, moving closer and closer to his crotch, where he was still very much as soft as he’d ever been. “I’m just trying to help you, you haven’t had relief in so long. You must be so pent up, my poor baby.”

Oh, it was almost laughable how wrong she was.

Eddie laughed nervously as Myra pushed him down again, her hand finally reaching up to awkwardly fondle his flaccid member. This went on for a few agonizingly long minutes, Eddie’s face pulled together in concentration as he tried to focus hard enough to, well, get hard. Myra was becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing moment, huffing over her futile attempts to jerk him off. She finally let go, pulling up and crossing her arms, eyes narrowing. Eddie was unable to hold in the sigh of relief as her hand left his genitals.

“What’s wrong, Eddie? Why isn’t this working?” She pouted. “Is there something wrong? Maybe we should have asked your doctor about a Viagra prescription, or maybe Cialis—”

“What? Are you kidding? Myra, I’m only 39 years old.” Eddie sat up, feeling his face grow hot. “I don’t need fucking _Viagra_ —”

“How else do you explain this? You haven’t had this issue before,” Myra insisted. “I’m going to set up another appointment for you ASAP.” 

“Myra, I swear to God if you call the doctor and tell him my dick doesn’t work, I’m going to lose it,” Eddie muttered quickly, unable to stop the venom in his voice. He knew for a _fact_ that his dick was working just fine, thank you very much. 

“Well, unless you can prove me otherwise, I think that it would be best if—” 

“Fine, I’ll prove it.” 

Myra offered him a smug look, and said nothing more as she pushed him back into the bed. Eddie tried not to focus too much on the feeling of her lips and fingers on his skin again, instead thinking about Richie, and the whirlwind that the last couple of nights had been. He thought of Richie’s stubble scratching his cheek as he kissed him for the first time, the way Richie’s hand had felt holding him down, traveling over the planes of his chest and stomach. He thought of the way Richie had groaned for him while they jerked off together over FaceTime, the shine of cum all over his stomach and hands in that picture he had sent him. 

It wasn’t long before Eddie had a raging hard-on, and Myra’s giggle snapped him back into reality. 

“Oh, that’s the Eddie I remember,” she breathed, hand reaching to grasp his erection. 

Steve hungrily accepted Richie’s cock as he pumped into his mouth, clutching onto his hair for dear life. He gagged slightly as his tip hit the back of his throat a few times, and Richie knew that he was moments away from finishing. He was dimly aware of Steve’s hand sliding up and down his own shaft, and the whimpers the smaller man made were like shockwaves of pure pleasure across the sensitive flesh of Richie’s dick. For Richie, it was Eddie who was there with him, so expertly taking the smooth thrusts of his hips, letting his head slide into his throat perfectly. Eddie was the one moaning around his cock, choking on it, furiously jerking himself off as Richie fucked his face. 

Richie’s grip on Steve’s hair tightened, holding him in place as his hips bucked sporadically, thighs spasming with the intensity of his eminent climax. 

“Oh, fuck—I’m gonna c-cum,” Richie panted, sweat dripping down the side of his face. His orgasm finally hit him, cock throbbing as his load pumped down Steve’s awaiting throat. _“Holyfuckingshit_ — _Eddie, fuck, ohmygod_ — _EDDIE!”_

It took Richie a moment to realize what he had done—only sinking in when Steve shoved him away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“What the _fuck_ did you just say?” Steve fumed, voice seething with an anger that Richie had never heard from his manager before—which was saying something considering the number of times Richie had fucked up during his career. “Did you just fucking call me _‘Eddie?’”_

“Uhh...can I get a lifeline here?” 

“Please tell me this is some kind of sick fucking _joke,_ Richie.” 

Eddie grimaced as he could feel Myra’s large hand gripping his erection. He tried so hard to keep his mind focused on the thought of Richie, and how his deep moans sent electricity coursing through his veins. But as much as he wanted to just get it over with, the sound of Myra’s giggles kept bringing him back to his current situation. Richie was not here at all.

“Is this what you like, dear?” Myra whispered in a strange attempt to be flirtatious, clumsily fondling Eddie’s cock—which didn’t help Eddie’s situation. If anything, the action hurt, there was no pleasure that came from it. It didn’t take long for Eddie’s hard-on to deflate quickly, becoming completely flaccid, and it didn’t look like he was going to fix that particular problem any time soon if Myra continued to try pumping it almost painfully. 

“You know, this isn’t working. Let me take care of it, Myra.”

“No! I wanna do it!”

“Myra, you don’t have to do this. Let me just do this, so we can get this over with.” In seconds, Eddie realized this was the worst thing he could have said in that moment.

“Get it over with?? I am trying to make love with my husband, Edward!”

“I-I know Myra! I d-didn’t—Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

“Well what did you mean?? I’m going out of my way, I bought this outfit just for you! I’m even trying to do something new for you! I just wanted to make you happy! And this is the thanks I get?” Myra cried, her hand still wrapped around Eddie’s dick, and Eddie winced hard as she squeezed painfully.

“M-Myra, please—OW—Please let go—”

“MY OWN HUSBAND CAN’T EVEN STAY AROUSED FOR ME, HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL, EDWARD???” Myra wailed, finally releasing Eddie from her grip. 

Eddie gasped as the feeling in his dick came back slowly, and he massaged it gently, his eyes welling up from the pain of his junk being held hostage in Myra’s vice grip. 

“I BOUGHT THIS BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENJOY SEEING YOUR WIFE IN SOMETHING NEW. I JUST WANTED TO SPICE UP OUR MARRIAGE FOR ONCE, IS THAT SO BAD?”

“M-Myra, keep it down, you’ll wake the neighb—”

DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME TO KEEP IT DOWN! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I ONLY WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY? THAT I KNOW WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU??”

“Myra, you need to calm down.” 

Eddie yanked his pants back on, tenderly tucking himself back into his underwear. 

“Calm down? I? Need to calm down?” Myra asked, her tone going from hysterical to eerily hushed so fast that it actually frightened Eddie with how quick the shift was. 

“Myra, let’s just go to bed, dear. Maybe tonight is not our night.” Eddie put his hands up in surrender. He still was so confused about the night, and he just wanted to finally sleep in his own bed. “We could try again tomorrow.”

Myra crossed her arms, her face more stoic than Eddie had ever seen her. It left him feeling very uneasy.

“You’re right Eddie-bear. It’s rather late. I wouldn’t want you to feel unrested tomorrow,” Myra stated coldly. 

Eddie took this as his cue to climb under the covers.

“Oh Eddie-bear, I think you misunderstood me. I didn’t say you were sleeping here.”

“W-what do you mean??” 

Myra grabbed his arm painfully, yanking him from the bed. He stumbled forward, almost falling face first onto the floor. Eddie managed to catch himself in the last moment, avoiding smashing his face in the last moment. 

“I don’t think you deserve to sleep here. I did so much to try to give you a lovely night, and the thanks I got was my dear beloved husband treating me like some sort of _chore_ he had to complete. You’re going to march to the bathroom, and take your medication. And then you’re going to march yourself down stairs and sleep on the couch. Do you understand me?” Myra firmly ordered.

Eddie gulped in nervousness, head bowed in defeat.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh Eddie-bear, don’t look so sad, you know I’m only doing this for your own good? So you learn, right?”

“....yes, dear,” Eddie murmured. He quelled the instinct to flinch as Myra caressed his cheek, and swallowed down the taste of bile as Myra forcefully planted a kiss on his lips.

Eddie did as she asked, taking his medication quickly, and grabbed a pillow, making his way downstairs to the couch. 

His hands still shook from everything that happened. He had never been more terrified of Myra in his life, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. Richie popped back into his brain, remembering how he had assured him how he should not be treated like this. And he was right.

_Fuck, I need to text him!_

Finally looking at his phone for the first time, he silently cursed seeing all the text messages from Richie, inquiring about his whereabouts. He quickly sent out a lengthy message, explaining why he hadn’t been able to talk to him all day. 

“Steve, look, I know—I know it sounds bad, it was an honest mistake.”

“A fucking _MISTAKE?!_ Rich, I just sucked your cock, and you said your fucking driver’s name. How the fuck am I supposed to take that?”

Steve was interrupted by the sound of Richie’s phone vibrating on the glass table, buzzing loudly and further announcing its presence. Richie tried ducking for it, but unfortunately for him Steve was faster—and even worse, Steve knew the code to get into his phone. 

“AND NOW HE’S FUCKING TEXTING YOU? HOW LONG HAS THIS BULLSHIT BEEN GOING ON, HUH?”

“Listen Steve, give—give me my phone.” 

The taller man swayed as he reached dumbly for it. Steve turned stone silent, and raised it in plain view. Richie paled as he saw exactly what was displayed on the screen. 

“What. The fuck. Is this. Richie?”

Richie tried to think of an excuse to explain away the various pictures of Eddie that filled the screen, words failing him as he emitted more of a tired whine instead. 

“Richie, isn’t the guy fucking _married?”_ Steve all but yelled, half-limp cock swinging absurdly through the air. _“_ I can’t fucking BELIEVE you right now!” 

He tossed Richie’s phone back to the couch, reaching down and fumbling for his clothes. 

“You’ve done a lot of fucked up shit but this—this is _beyond_ fucked up.” Steve shoved on his pants. “You write that guy his _checks._ He has a _wife._ And you’re here, texting each other dirty pictures like fucking teenagers.” Jamming on his shirt, he roughly buttoned it shut. “What are you going to do when the wife finds out?” 

“If—” Richie began before Steve snatched up the comedian’s shirt and hurled it at him. 

“Get dressed, idiot. And not if, _when_ . Because it _will_ happen. Especially with how fucking sloppy it looks like the both of you are being. Have you fucked him?” Steve demanded, grabbing Richie’s pants and chucking those at him as well. Richie scrambled to put them on, not noticing the baggie of coke as it dropped from his pocket. Steve’s eyes did not miss it. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RICHIE?” 

“What? I haven’t—we didn’t fuck,” Richie stammered, still not noticing the bag that had fallen to the floor. Steve reached over and snagged it, waving it in his face. 

“I thought we were DONE with this shit, Rich!” Steve roared, and Richie could not recall a time that he had ever seen his manager this royally pissed off. “So this is what you’ve been doing all week? Getting high and fucking your driver?” 

“I _told_ you we haven’t fucked!” Richie insisted, still trying to put his pants on. 

Steve was pacing now, so quickly it was making Richie nauseous.

“Hey man, just—just chill out,” he said weakly. “It’s not as bad as you think.” 

“Richie, this is _so fucking bad._ What if she goes to the press? What if _he_ does? Do you ever just stop to THINK about these things? No, of course you don’t. Jesus fucking CHRIST.” 

“No.” Richie stopped struggling with his pants, which were mostly on anyway. “Eddie wouldn’t do that. And he’s like, totally gonna leave his wife—” 

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, RICHIE!” Steve exploded, cords popping in his neck. “You. Don’t. THINK. You barely KNOW the guy. You met, what, three weeks ago? And you think he’s just gonna up and leave his wife for you? That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works! Richie, listen to me. You’re a celebrity. All you are is a fucking cheap thrill to this guy, part of his midlife crisis. Do you know how fast a scandal like this can ruin your career? Or worse—he could get you for fucking sexual harassment.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Richie insisted. 

Steve took a deep, leveled breath, fixing Richie with a hard glare. He looked very much like he wanted to reach over and just wrap his hands around his throat, and for a second Richie was afraid he might actually do it. 

“I’m not going to put up with this. This guy isn’t worth the fucking risk. Besides, if you care about him so much, why are you over here letting me suck you off?”

Richie opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought,” Steve spat. 

“Ok, that’s not fucking fair,” Richie retorted, finding his voice again. “I-I told you a long time ago that I was thinking about coming out, and _you_ were the one—you said I should wait. And—and _you_ were the one who said that it’d be better if we just kept fucking, just so I could keep pretending to be this fucking _person_ who everyone wants me to be! I bet it must be real fucking nice, getting to walk around and not have to _lie_ to everyone all the time, getting to be this cool fucking bisexual guy who just fucks whoever he wants whenever he wants!”

“You know it’s not that easy Richie—” 

“It’s 2016! Gay marriage is fucking legal now, dude!” Richie was unable to contain himself now, years of pent up, repressed feelings pouring out in one tidal wave of emotion. “How long do I have to fucking wait? Or do you—do you just get off on keeping me all to yourself?”

“There is a time and a place to do things, Richie, and this is NOT it. How many times do I have to tell you—” 

_“Bone Structure Siblings,_ ” Richie said flatly. 

“What?” Steve was nonplussed. 

_“Bone. Structure. Siblings._ You—you said if that movie did good we could start talking about me coming out,” Richie said slowly, looking up at Steve from his position on the couch. “And it did great, so what gives!” 

“Yeah, it was well-received by critics!” Steve shot back, shaking his head. “Majority of your fans either did not see it or did not enjoy it. We need to find another strategy.” 

“Man, fuck that—” 

“Richie, I’m done explaining this to you. You’re going to delete those pictures off your damn phone, and end this thing. And I’m taking _this_ —” He gestured with the bag of coke he was still angrily clutching in his hand. “—with me. Tomorrow I’m looking into getting you another driver.” 

“NO!” Richie actually yelled this time, jumping from the couch. “Steve, c’mon. You can’t.” 

“I can’t trust you Richie!” 

Richie’s gut dropped at the possibility of not seeing Eddie again. The thought alone scared the shit out of him. He didn’t even want to think about what life had been like before Eddie: those lonely nights with no company but those terrible voices, doing anything it took to chase them away. And Steve was fully aware of the extent of just how bad Richie’s drinking and coke use could get, the past couple of days had been _nothing_ compared to his usual benders. 

“Steve please, I don’t ask for much—just don’t fire him!” Richie begged. “I’ll talk to him, I’ll do anything you want—I just can’t lose him!”

“Why the fuck do you care so much about this asshole?” Steve yelled, utter confusion reading visibly on his face. “Are you really fucking risking everything for this fucking middle-aged, married man?”

“Yes,” Richie said plainly. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned why the fuck would he want any of this if he couldn’t live how he wanted, be who be wanted, _be with_ who he wanted. The straight-forward reply shocked Steve to a halt, a look of hurt and jealousy swiftly flashing across his face.

“Are you fucking serious?” Steve whispered, not believing how quickly and confidently Richie had answered that question. “After everything we’ve worked so hard to build? You’re willing to throw that all away for some fucking nobody?” 

“He’s isn’t nobody to me.”

Steve stood there for a moment, contemplating what to do. After a while, he let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair.

“Fine.”

Richie blinked, thinking he had just imagined it. “Wha—”

“Fine, Richie!” Steve said louder, his arms thrown up. “I won’t fire the guy. But this right here,” Steve harshly pointed toward his phone on the couch, “This needs to end, right now.”

“Ste—”

“No Richie! That guy could ruin you! He can finish out our contract, but whatever this is—it’s over. You’re going to go back to work tomorrow, and then you’re going to go out to dinner tomorrow with Stacey. End of discussion.”

“Who the fuck is Stacey?”

“Oh my God, you have to be kidding me,” Steve muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well Richie, you would have known if you were at work these past few days. She’s your co-star for the project I just booked for you.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond, but Steve cut him off before he got a word in.

“Next time, do the one fucking job I give you, and actually show up.” 

Steve grabbed his coat, yanking it on, catching the bag of coke that fell out of his pocket in the process.

“I’m still taking this.” Steve shoved the small bag in his pocket, much to Richie’s chagrin.

“Steve…” Richie called out as his manager opened his front door. “Steve, don’t make me do this.”

“You give me no other fucking option, Richie. I’m your manager. I have to do what’s best for your career, and I am not going to let you throw away all of my fucking hard work for a goddamn _chauffeur.”_

Steve slammed the door, leaving Richie in a dead quiet stupor. 

“Shit,” Richie finally said after a good long moment of silence. “Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit sHIT SHIT SHIT!!” 

Grabbing a small figurine he didn’t remember buying from his entryway table, he chucked it towards the wall as hard as he could, the coke buzz long gone. It shattered into thousands of little ceramic pieces as it made impact with the wall. 

Richie wasn’t done there, entering a blind rage as he knocked over everything on a nearby bookshelf, the items scattering onto the floor below. 

Tears stung his eyes as he looked at the carnage that was his living room, his breathing coming out in short pants. 

_(what did you think was going to happen that you and eddie would run away together and live happily ever after that you could just leave all of this behind you could but can’t and you won’t because you are a fucking coward and a goddamn pussy you’ll never leave because steve is right)_

Richie collapsed on the couch in a heap, shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

_(you are so fucking selfish you didn’t think any of this through you only think of yourself you useless sack of shit you never think of anything else you are a narcissistic worthless faggot)_

The louder the voice became, the harder Richie gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the voice to just leave him alone for one fucking second in his life.

If he had been paying any less attention, he just might have not noticed his phone buzzing. 

His spiral into his dark place paused as he grabbed his phone from the far end of the couch. His heart leaped into his throat as he saw it was another text message from Eddie. He still hadn’t seen the initial text that had sent Steve into a rage in the first place. 

His manager’s words echoed in his head, warning him to not respond, to just ignore the text message and heed his words. Richie almost did, too—that is until the very thought felt like a punch to the chest, and he found that he could barely breathe.

Richie had never listened to Steve before, why start now? He unlocked his phone and opened Eddie’s text. He took a second to scan his previous message.

_Hey Richie, I’m really sorry I didn’t text you all day. Myra got me a doctor’s note and wouldn’t let me out of her fucking sight. I wanted to tell you earlier but didn’t get a chance. I think Myra might suspect something, so I’m trying to keep her happy right now._

Well that explained a lot; the knot in Richie’s chest loosened slightly. He did stiffen at the last line, and Steve’s angry concern suddenly made a lot more sense. He scrolled down to see the most recent text.

_Richie? You awake??_

Richie’s thumbs hovered over the screen, unsure of how to proceed. Knowing Steve, he’d be checking his phone as soon as he got to work in the morning. _So what?_ Messages could be deleted. He quickly typed out a response. 

_yeah just woke up from a nap lol_

Richie wasn’t sure why he lied, but it felt a whole lot better than telling the truth—that he had spent a good portion of his night getting sucked off by his manager, who then proceeded to absolutely tear him a new asshole after finding out their little secret. He anxiously watched the three bubbles blink, desperate for a distraction from Steve’s words that echoed in his head. It didn’t take long for Eddie to reply: 

_My day has been such shit. Guess who’s sleeping on the couch again._

The message was accompanied by another picture, illustrating Eddie’s predicament as he reclined on a black couch. He was shirtless again, the trail of love marks now a bluish hue painted with a yellow tinge around the edges. A blanket was draped strategically across the sharp v of his hips, and Richie’s mouth was absolutely watering at the sight. 

Another message came in before he had a chance to respond: 

_Can I come over? I really need to see you_

Those words made Richie’s breath catch, and his chest swelled with a deep, aching longing like none he had never known. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, to invite Eddie into his bed with open arms. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Steve had said about Eddie’s wife, Myra. The vibes off of that woman were as bad as they could get, but it never occurred to Richie what might happen if she found them out. At this point, the press was the least of Richie’s worries—he was more concerned about what she might do to Eddie. And maybe his manager was right, they _were_ being pretty damn sloppy; the marks all over his driver’s chest was proof of that alone. 

His mind flashed to the stupid date that Steve had set up for him, and Richie was filled with a deep, dark dread. It wasn’t uncommon for his manager to do this periodically: schedule him dates with various models and starlets, always in the public eye to maintain this playboy façade that Richie had been living for the past couple of decades. He hated these dates, making awkward small talk with a woman whom he rarely had any shared interests or even a remote attraction to, all the while trying to play the role of this lady-killer jerk wannabe for the press and his fans. And at this point, after the way Steve had laid into him and forbade him from pursuing Eddie, this date was like adding insult to injury. 

_you don’t know how bad i want that_

Richie finally sent his response, fingers shaking. Eddie’s message came almost in an instant. 

_I can be there in 15 minutes._

Richie let out an audible groan then, fighting the overwhelming urge to throw his phone across the room in his frustration. Couldn’t anything _ever_ be easy? He felt hot tears well up in his eyes as he agonized over how to reply. The thought of Eddie coming over then, his sole comfort in the absolute nightmare that this night had ended up becoming, was appealing beyond belief. But Richie wouldn’t put it past Steve to wait in the lobby, making sure that Richie didn’t get any unexpected late night visitors—Eddie or otherwise. Richie sighed heavily, wishing more than anything that it was Eddie who he was taking to dinner tomorrow night, instead of whoever Steve had set him up with. 

_tonight’s not good for me after all. How about dinner tomorrow?_

Richie wasn’t sure why he sent it, and immediately regretted his decision when the three bubbles didn’t immediately start blinking back. He was halfway through typing a message to backtrack, when a seed of an idea planted itself in his mind. What if he _did_ bring Eddie along to his dinner? No, that would be awkward as hell, bringing his driver along to what’s supposed to be a date. But the thought of being alone with another stranger—forcing a conversation and feigning interest—it made his insides feel like rubber. The thought of Eddie being there with him was such a comforting thought, and at this point he just couldn’t let it go. 

And then the idea that was growing within Richie took such an absurd turn, he actually laughed out loud: what if Eddie brought Myra? 

“Oh yeah, that would be _it,”_ he muttered to himself. “A fucking double date with the Kaspbraks.” 

But was that idea _so_ crazy? Sure, Steve might blow another gasket, but what else was new? Eddie could bring Mrya, Richie could charm her and win her over with good, expensive food and wine. She would see him entertaining this beautiful actress, and any suspicions she may have about Richie and her husband would go right out of the window. It was a foolproof plan, the perfect cover to buy him and Eddie enough time to figure out everything else.

His phone finally vibrated with Eddie’s reply: 

_I’d love that._

Richie smiled, wide and content. It looked like Eddie was right on board with his plan.

_it’s a date <3 _

Is this what it felt like to be on cloud nine? To want to giggle like a lovesick teenager? Eddie read and reread Richie’s messages over and over again. Richie just asked him out to dinner—did this mean what he thought it meant? 

For a while Eddie’s insecurities had been spiralling, thinking that maybe the celebrity was just screwing around with him, just using him for some fun. He worried that Richie wasn’t interested in him in the same way he was. Fuck, he’d even fantasized about running away with the guy. If that wasn’t being completely _gone_ for Richie, he didn’t know what was. 

But maybe—just maybe—Richie felt the same way. Someone who was just interested in sex wouldn’t ask you out to dinner, would they? Richie had an opportunity that night; Eddie was ready to go over and have _something_ happen—Myra be damned—but instead Richie invited on to dinner. Eddie’s heart soared at the idea. _Richie asked me out on a date!_

Wait. 

Richie asked him out.

_Fuck._

All of a sudden, nerves began to dance wildly in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and he felt a sheen of sweat develop across his forehead. His mind began to fire off all possible awful outcomes: What if the date went badly, Richie began to realize how much he didn’t like him? Or even, what if it went _well,_ but Richie still ended up losing interest down the road? What if it went so well, that Eddie couldn’t bear the thought of returning back home, willing to follow Richie to the ends of the Earth, but somehow was still left in the dust, with nowhere to go?

A small part of him knew that his imagination was running wild, but the sudden influx of anxiety made it difficult to think straight. He tried to combat it by forcing a different scenario: the date goes perfect, Richie convinces Eddie to divorce Myra, and they fly off somewhere to live happily ever after. The very thought brought a delirious smile to Eddie’s face, and he yearned to finally be happy for the first time in a very long time. 

The idea that Richie, a globally recognized celebrity who could absolutely have anyone he wanted, choosing to be with Eddie—a tired, middle aged man with a clicky right wrist, who did nothing but overthink everything all day, who couldn’t function without his daily cocktail of vitamins and medications—it was almost too much to think about. The very thought sounded like a plotline to a tacky and corny romance novel, or even a bad joke. Eddie wanted very badly for it to be his reality. 

Eddie took a moment to consider what that would mean for him. Did he actually have the courage to leave Myra? Could Eddie leave his whole life behind for a gamble at the chance to be with someone he truly connected with, someone who he felt really understood him?

He instantly knew the answer to this, but it still terrified him to no end. 

“I would absolutely leave her for Richie.” whispered Eddie, not even realizing he had said it out loud.

Somehow, admitting that to himself felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, like he was speaking this energy into the universe, manifesting its existence. Eddie read the messages once more, practically committing them to memory—before setting his phone down, and trying to keep his mind off of how uncomfortable the couch was, and more so on what the next day would bring. 

Before he fell asleep, his phone buzzed once more. He blinked as the brightness of the screen blinded him a bit as he checked what he thought would be a text from Richie (who else would be messaging him this late at night?), but was surprised to see was actually from Steve: 

_Richie’s going to work tomorrow. Make sure to pick him up._

Well, Eddie was glad that Richie sounded like he was bouncing back. This also meant he’d get to see him tomorrow morning. The very thought was enough to bring a serene smile to Eddie’s face as he eventually drifted to sleep. 

Eddie adjusted his suit jacket, a much nicer one that was different from his typical driver’s uniform. Taking a quick glance in the car side mirror, he ran his fingers one more time through his hair, wanting to look his absolute best. Taking a shaky breath, he walked towards the restaurant, heart pounding as each step took him closer to his _date._ His mind was so far gone, that he almost ran into a small child walking down the sidewalk, the balloon he was holding smacking Eddie right in his face.

“Sorry mister!” the child called out.

Eddie paid the kid no mind, just focusing on getting himself to the restaurant, determined to make this night go as well as possible. He finally made it to the door—Richie picked a really expensive-looking Korean Steakhouse—and walked to the front desk.

“Welcome! Do you have a reservation?” the ginger-haired hostess asked with a wide smile.

“Yes, I believe it’s under Tozier?”

“Oh yes! The private booth! Right this way.” 

Eddie’s face grew hot at the fact that Richie had booked them a private booth, and all that it implied. He shook his head with an embarrassed grin to himself, giddy and nervous and unable to stop his brain as it produced fantasies of what he wanted Richie to do to him in that private booth. _This is a public restaurant,_ he chided inwardly. They were here to have a nice dinner, maybe get to know each other a little better, discuss where this was all going. And if things went well, who knew, maybe they could take things back to Richie’s condo and pick up where they left off a few nights ago. They could _really_ get to know each other then, talking with their hands and bodies, teeth and tongues, communicating in moans and grunts instead of words—

“Your booth is just down the hall and to the right,” the girl’s voice swiftly cut through his hopeful musings. 

“Oh, um, than—”

Eddie turned to where the hostess walked off to, to see her bright red hair turn the corner. Well, that was pretty rude. Maybe she thought it was weird for two guys to be eating in a private booth together. Eddie smushed away the gross feeling in his gut that poured in at the thought of how it must have looked to her, or to _anyone_ really. 

_No, don’t think about that,_ Eddie tried to soothe himself. _You’re here for Richie. That’s it._

Making his way towards the room he was directed to, he could feel his hands becoming clammy with sweat. What felt like ages later, he finally reached the booth, which was as private as it could get, with a solid, windowless oak door. Eddie reached for the door handle with one shaking hand, taking a deep, grounding breath before opening it. A stylish light fixture hung from the center of the ceiling, illuminating the booth in a soft, dim light. Richie sat inside, on the opposite end of a large round table covered in a floor length tablecloth. His arms were outstretched on either side of him, resting on the back of the booth, and his face lit up when he saw Eddie walk in and quietly close the door behind him. 

“Eddie Spaghetti! You made it!” he said excitedly, eyes shining in his mirth. “Take a seat. You’re just in time.” 

He groaned a little then, clearing his throat while he shifted slightly in his place. 

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. “Good to see you.” 

He slid into the booth, taking his place across from the taller man. His foot got tangled in the table leg, and he struggled for a moment to right himself, hyper aware of Richie’s eyes fixed directly on him. Richie sighed heavily, and Eddie noticed one of his hands gripping the back of the booth, knuckles white. 

“It’s—mmm—always great to see you, Eds,” Richie panted, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Uh, you feeling alright there, Richie?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask, concerned over the strained look that he now noticed was painted across the comedian’s face. 

Richie laughed, a snide, cold sound that was very unlike any laugh Eddie had ever heard from the man before. It was then that he noticed the sound: a soft, wet, squelching noise—rhythmic and for some reason making Eddie feel sick to his very core. What the hell _was_ that? 

“Do you hear that?” Eddie looked around, trying to locate the source of that horrible sound, which seemed to be coming from within the booth itself. 

“Hear what?” Richie giggled, doubling over now and emitting a low, needy moan that immediately caught Eddie’s full attention. 

“Richie, what’s—” 

“Fuck, Eddie, why the hell would you ever wanna leave someone with such a _mouth_ on her?” Richie groaned, leaning into the cushioned back of the booth. “Jesus _fuck,_ Myra.” 

Eddie looked over the table and saw it then—the unmistakable blond hair of his wife, catching the light as her head bobbed up and down over Richie’s exposed cock. Eddie’s jaw dropped in pure shock and horror, unable to tear his eyes away as Myra’s mouth slid over his shaft, greedily taking every inch while her hand worked and toyed with his sack. Those horribly wet noises seemed to get louder and louder, echoing in a horrible cacophony in the small wooden booth. She panted and grunted gutturally as she slobbered all over the dick that Eddie had fantasized so much over in the last few days. Richie reached down to grab a fistful of her hair. 

“Good girl, Myra, you know how I like it,” Richie purred, holding her in place while his hips began to thrust his cock into her awaiting mouth. 

Eddie found that he had no words, only able to stare on in utter helplessness at the scene unfolding before him. Richie suddenly made eye contact with him, head cocked up as he stared down at him. 

“I can’t believe you fell for it. I never wanted you.” 

He yanked Myra up, sliding his cock out of her throat. Eddie could see now that she was wearing the pink negligee, although the matching panty was gone and she was fully nude underneath. Richie bent her over the table, holding her head in place so she was staring up at Eddie as well. His other hand came down on her ass, swift and hard with a loud _slap!_ He took a handful of the flesh there with such force that her skin jiggled and rippled out from where his hand made contact. 

“This is all your fault, dear,” she said matter-of-factly as Richie stood and positioned himself behind her. “If you were able to please me the way a husband should please his wife, this would have never happened.” 

Eddie watched on in utter revulsion, still unable to voice his horror as Richie proceeded to pound into his wife, table shaking with each thrust of his hips. Myra moaned horribly, eyes rolling up into the back of her head. Her skin began to sag, great patches of it rotting away impossibly fast, and Eddie could see clumps of her hair ripping out where Richie’s fist was clutching it. His eyes shot to the other man, who he was horrified to see in a similar state: skin of his forehead splitting open, the yellow bone underneath peaking through. The skin around his mouth seemed to have been eaten away, teeth poking up from horribly grey gums like crumbled tombstones in a long abandoned cemetery. His nose had rotted away completely, just two bloody red slivers that panted sickly as he continued to fuck Eddie’s corpse of a wife. 

Myra’s hand reached towards him, grey and covered in pustules, some of which were emitting a foul-smelling pus. Eddie whimpered, trying to back away, but finding his seat was slowly inching closer and closer to the table. He reached for the door, but it had vanished completely. He was trapped. 

_“Do you want a blowjob, Eddie-bear?”_ the thing that could not be his wife simpered, hand clawing for his belt. 

_“Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti, JOIN US,”_ Richie raspsed, reaching out a withered, lesion covered hand towards him. _“WE ALL FLOAT DOWN HERE, EDS.”_

Shaking violently, Eddie let out a cry, flattening himself as much as he could away from the outstretched diseased hand. 

“ _WE ALL FLOAT WE ALL FLOAT WE ALL FLOAT!”_

 _“_ NO! STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” Eddie smacked the hand away, and almost threw up right there when the arm snapped off easily, and landed on the floor with a sickening _squelch._ Eddie immediately regretted the action as another arm easily regrew in a grotesque way, visible veins and bones producing before his very eyes. This angered this horrible version of Richie as the room seemed to shrink significantly smaller, and the diseased pair before him seemed to grow impossibly larger, almost filling the booth entirely. 

“ _What’s the matter, Spaghetti? I thought yOU WANTED ME!!_

Eddie looked on in horror as the rest of their faces decayed even further, bits of rotting flesh practically raining down on him as they continued fucking—or whatever they were doing at this point. Eddie didn’t even know if it constituted as fucking anymore as their rotting bodies seemed to melt together, and he no longer knew where Richie began and Myra ended. As more of Myra’s face slid off, a new face emerged from underneath. Eddie paled as the rest of Myra’s scalp rotted right off and landed right next to him. The face of his deceased mother now looked straight at him, a pained expression etched into her face.

“ _Eddie-dear! Help meeee!”_ she sobbed. 

_“Mommy?”_ Eddie whimpered, not having seen his mother’s face in several years since her death.

“ _EDDIE HELP YOUR MOTHER! COME TO MOMMY!”_ the woman wailed, beckoning Eddie closer. 

Eddie froze in terror, the sight before him enough to induce severe nausea as the bile came up his throat and out of his mouth. He practically jumped out of his skin as a loud high pitched cackle erupted around him, the noise deafening, causing his ears to ring. 

“ _MISS ME EGG BOY?!”_ the voice roared.

Eddie’s eyes widened as a dark figure behind the gyrating mass of mixing flesh grew closer and closer. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, as if trying to escape from this very reality.

“CoMe PlAy WiTh Me EdDiE sPaGhEtTi!!” 

As the figure came to full view, he could now see it was a clown that was emerging from the shadows. There was something horribly familiar about It’s red-orange hair, those teeth protruding over a drooping and drooling lower lip, mouth painted a red that looked suspiciously like blood. It’s bright yellow eyes glinted in the dim light, almost seeming to glow as it hungrily eyed Eddie, that mouth stretching into a grim smile that revealed razor sharp teeth. 

“CoMe PlAy WiTh Us EdDiE!!” the three figures in front of him roared in unison.

Eddie, tears flowing down freely from his face, crouched down and tried to make himself as small as possible. The clown’s head grew twice in size, as It’s mouth opened wide, his jaw unhinged. Eddie screamed as It descended onto the two melted forms in front of him, sinking It’s teeth into the mound of flesh of a half-rotted Richie. Blood flew as It continued to devour through rotted flesh, the bones audibly crunching in Its mouth. The diseased Richie let out an animalistic screech as he continued thrusting into the body beneath him, and It continued to rip off pieces of his back. 

Eddie cried out as his face was splashed with congealed bits of Richie’s blood, chunks of skin and flesh, and what could possibly be It’s drool. He covered his face with his arms, shielding himself from not only the raining of blood, but from the very sight itself. 

“NO GET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!!”

“ThErEs No EsCaPe! YoUlL fLoAt WiTh ThE rEsT oF tHeM!” It cackled, pieces of meat clinging between It’s teeth, particles of Richie landing on Eddie. 

“ _EDDIE, LISTEN TO MOMMY! JOIN US JOIN US JoIn Us jOiN uS JOiN uS!!”_

The thing wearing his mother’s face finally reached him, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him forward. Richie’s disease-riddled fingers closed around his throat, pulling him close, hips still sickeningly shoving into the corpse-like figure before him. It’s hole of a mouth pressed against Eddie’s, a long black tongue slipping out and forcing its way between his lips, bitter and thick as it slid down his throat. He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the horrible appendage that was pushing even deeper and deeper within him, and he realized all at once he could no longer breath. 

Eddie thrashed about, clawing at the hands that squeezed around his throat, feet sinking into soft, decaying flesh. The clown let out an ear-splitting roar, but Eddie could no longer see it, black spots clouding his vision as The Thing That Wasn’t Richie continued to throttle him, tongue still pushing impossibly further down, so far he thought he could feel it in his stomach, thrashing about sickly, looking for another opening to go even deeper—

Eddie jerked awake, gagging and soaked from head to toe in sweat. He looked around the room in panic, searching for that horrible version of Richie, or his mother, or Myra, or that fucking _clown_. But he was alone, laying on his couch at an awkward angle. His blanket was tangled in his legs which felt like they had been thrashing about the way he had in his dream. He could almost smell that horrible, cloying, rotted stench, that incessant squelching noise still ringing in his ears. The analogue clock above the doorway showed that he was up just before his alarm, and it was pretty much time to get his day started. 

He teetered off of the couch with quivering legs, unable to shake that terrifying dream from his mind. He rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth vigorously, swearing that he could still taste that fucking _tongue_ in the back of his throat. He could hear Myra down in the kitchen, and paled at the thought of having to face her. As bad as the dream had been, it had been just that—a dream. 

What had happened last night was in fact very real. 

Sure, Myra had always been a little hard on him, a little demanding, but she had never tried to physically hurt him before. Last night, however, was an entirely different story. He remembered the way she had gripped his softened penis, and squeezed like she had _wanted_ to hurt him—which she definitely succeeded in doing. And then she had almost thrown him to the floor, and as he looked at his arm he saw there were indeed light bruises beginning to form where she had grasped him. His face hardened, and he blinked away a tear. 

Eddie Kaspbrak was done putting up with this shit. 

He thought about Richie, and how much things had changed since he had met him. Only then did he remember about the date. His date. With Richie. His nightmare flashed to the forefront of his mind for a moment, before he did his best to shove it away. That was just some stress-induced bullshit, born of his nerves for tonight’s date, and his failure to become intimate with his wife. That’s all. A perfectly reasonable explanation. 

Trying not to think about the dream, Eddie focused on the upcoming night as he showered. He wondered where Richie would take him—it had been years since he had been on a date, and even then, he had rarely ever looked forward to them. But this was something different, this had Eddie running over possible conversation topics, wracking his brains for any interesting anecdotes he may have. His excitement mingled with nerves, afraid more than anything that he might do something to screw all of this up. 

He downed his handful of pills without a thought, gelling and running a comb through his hair. Bounding downstairs, he tried to make it pass Myra without her noticing—an optimistic but foolish wish. 

“Oh, Eddie-bear! Are you trying to leave without saying goodbye?” she called out, hands on her hips. “Or are you looking to spend another night on the couch? It’s been awhile since you’ve gone three in a row.” 

“Sorry, dear, I’m running late,” Eddie murmured, eyes on the ground as he approached his wife. 

“Eyes up, Eddie.” 

“Yes, dear.” Eddie finally looked to her, half-expecting to see that half-rotted face peering back at him. 

“Now you be good today, make the right decisions,” she said carefully, smoothing the lapel of his chauffeur uniform. “I love you, my Eddie-bear.” 

“I love you, too, mommy,” Eddie said quickly, not realizing his mistake. 

“Oh, Eddie—only in the bedroom,” Myra said with a salacious grin, tossing him a suggestive wink. 

“Uh, ok,” Eddie replied, still not aware of what he had said. “My client has missed a few days, so I’m sure we’ll have a long day. I’ll see you later tonight. Bye, dear.” 

“Goodbye, my Eddie-bear.” 

She blew him a wet-sounding kiss that reminded him far too much of his nightmare, and he practically ran out of his house and into his car. He anxiously sped to Richie’s condo, wanting to put as much distance between him and his wife as possible. He pulled up to the curb, realizing he was several minutes early. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he shot Richie a text—trying not to pay too much attention to their earlier thread of messages. 

_Hey, I’m outside._

It showed as _sent_ , and Eddie stared at it for a few moments, hoping it would change to _read_. Restless, he sent another text: 

_Should I come upstairs?_

Eddie’s leg jiggled as he waited for a response. He considered calling Richie, but didn’t want to come off as clingy. He was early as it is. Hell—knowing Richie, he was probably still asleep. He relaxed slightly, but there was still a stiffness in his back that wouldn’t go away (although that very well could have been due to his second consecutive night on the couch). Just as he made the decision to try calling Richie, the notification came in for his response. 

_no i’ll be right down just give me a minute._ _  
__i may be a lil hungover lol be kind_

Eddie sighed, a little disappointed in the thought that Richie had gotten drunk _again._ But who was he to judge? At least he was alive and going back to work, and Eddie was _finally_ going to get to see him again—for the first time since the night they had spent together. The couple of days apart had felt like an actual eternity, and Eddie didn’t realize just how desperate he was to see Richie again. He took a breath, trying to lower his heart rate, which was beating loudly in his ear. Why was he so nervous?

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the passenger seat side window. His head whipped over to see Richie’s sheepish grin as he waved at him, a pair of thick sunglasses covering part of his face. Eddie unlocked the car, and Richie silently entered the vehicle. 

“What’s with the shades?” 

Richie let out a groan in response, his head resting on the window. Eddie let out a soft chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at my pain.”

“Well, not my fault you got wasted again. I’m surprised you’re coming to work today.”

“Steve got mad I was missing so many days.”

“And let me guess, you just want him off your back.” Eddie grinned.

“Oh Eddie, my love, you know me so well,” Richie said jokingly, donning a thick cockney accent, finally switching his eyewear to his normal thick lenses.

They sat there for a minute, a heavy silence filled the air. Eddie wished Richie would say something to cut the quiet, something stupid or obnoxious as usual. 

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah, Rich—”

Richie grabbed Eddie by the shoulder, bringing him closer, and catching his lips with his own. Eddie was caught slightly by surprise, but quickly melted into Richie’s hold, relishing in the warm touch he hadn’t felt in several days. His heart was leaping in his throat as he felt Richie’s other hand reach up to softly grip the side of his face, two fingers slipping behind his ear. 

Several seconds passed by, until Richie and Eddie parted, Eddie’s pupils blown wide.

“What was that for?” Eddie asked softly.

“Didn’t think it was fair we kissed for the first time and I still can’t remember a goddamn thing.”

Eddie’s perplexed look melted into a fond expression. 

“And who’s fault is that, do you think?” 

“Absolutely not mine, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Richie let out a pout, a childlike gleam in his eye. 

“Oh of course not,” Eddie cackled, rolling his eyes. He was glad that Richie’s typical goofball behavior had returned; he had missed their regularly scheduled bickering.

“Scout’s honor, Spaghetti ma—”

“Not my name.”

“I just had a teeny cocktail, and that teeny drink turned into two.”

“Damn, you must be an absolute lightweight then.” 

“I mean at least I don’t go around leaving my wedding ring in random bathrooms,” Richie shot back with a wicked grin, holding the glimmering circle between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Oh my God, give me that!” Eddie swiped it from him. “I thought Myra was going to actually kill me.” 

There was an awkward silence as Eddie jammed it onto his ring finger. He wondered if it had always felt so heavy, like it was made of lead instead of gold. 

“I still can’t believe how _tiny_ your hands are, dude,” Richie teased in an attempt to change the subject away from Eddie’s wife. 

“And I still can’t believe how huge your ego is,” Eddie quipped back, pulling away from the curb and making his way toward the studio Richie was recording in.

“You wound me, Spagheds! Hitting me where it _really_ hurts!” Richie exclaimed dramatically, causing Eddie to giggle. The sound brought a bright smile to Richie’s face; he missed the sound of Eddie’s laughter these past few days.

Richie reached forward to fiddle with the radio, changing it to their usual station. He leaned back in the seat, stretching his arm to wrap around Eddie’s shoulders. The driver revelled in the feeling of Richie’s hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm. He leaned into the touch, driving serenely through the streets of New York. Richie noted how calm Eddie was then, not yelling once at one of the many bad drivers around them. 

Too soon, they reached the studio, Eddie pulling smoothly in front of the curb. Richie’s heart sank when he saw Steve waiting by the front door, staring straight at them with his arms crossed. Eddie, however, did not notice this, having only eyes for Richie. He wanted to open his mouth and confide in him the terrible events of the night before, of how Myra had treated him worse than ever, about how terribly and deeply he had _missed_ him, of how Eddie had never felt so much or so deeply for a person before in his entire life—but he couldn’t say any of those things. The fear was too great, overwhelming him and providing him with a plethora of reasons to second guess this entire thing. Moreover, there was one simple thing he wanted desperately, more than anything, more than any words could ever say: 

He wanted Richie to kiss him again.

Eddie needed that touch again, not satisfied with their earlier embrace. He needed that warmth to envelope him once more, needed to be reminded again that he was a person worthy of _real_ love and affection, not whatever the fuck had been going on with Myra for who even knew how long. Eddie wasn’t sure how—or why—but the simple truth was this: he needed Richie. He hated to think about how long he would have continued to endure Myra’s abuse if Richie hadn’t pointed out that the way she treated him, the way she talked down to him, demeaned him—it wasn’t normal. And it wasn’t okay. And he was done putting up with it. 

Eddie was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Richie’s voice, which he thought sounded a little nervous as he said: 

“...uh, I think I should be done by five. See you then?” 

“Perfect, I didn’t want to miss rush hour today,” Eddie said sarcastically, offering a small smile, 

“I aim only to please.” Richie couldn’t help but toss him a wink, and Eddie felt his face grow hot. _Goddamn it, do you have to blush at every damn thing he does._

Eddie turned almost expectantly to Richie, praying to any god that would listen that he would indeed kiss him again. His prayers went unanswered as Richie instead gave him a half-hearted little wave, hurriedly exiting the car and nearly running into the studio. Eddie’s eyes finally fell on Steve, who he thought gave him a rather severe look, before following Richie through the door. For a heart-stopping second, Eddie wondered if Steve somehow found out about the two of them. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he muttered to himself, engine idling as he nervously chewed at one of his thumbnails. 

Ok, so maybe Steve knew. He was Richie’s manager after all, perhaps Richie had confided in him. But what was with that _look?_ Trying not to think too hard about it, Eddie drove aimlessly through the city, not really aware of where he was going. He had time to kill, and he sure as hell didn't want to be home with Myra. His mind wandered to later that night, and his impending date. 

_Their_ date. 

He panicked for a moment, not sure of what he was going to wear. Richie was surely going to take him somewhere upscale, what if there was a dress code? None of his old, ill-fitting sports jackets would be even remotely appropriate. He checked his watch, noting exactly how much time he had until he needed to pick up Richie. With a destination in mind, he weaved his way through the streets, eventually finding a parking garage on Fifth Avenue. 

Eddie walked briskly down the sidewalk, turning into the entrance for Saks. He made a beeline for the men’s section, eyes nervously scanning through the various racks of designer clothes that he had never even looked at before in his life. As he awkwardly perused through the seemingly endless options, a sales associate approached him with a wide smile. 

“Can I help you find anything today, sir?” he asked, back straightening. 

“Uh, actually, yeah,” Eddie admitted. “I guess I’m looking for a suit—or something.” 

“What’s the occasion?” the associate asked, not unkindly. It occurred to Eddie that this man might be gay, but he was never good at guessing that kind of stuff and didn’t like assuming. 

“Uh, well, I’m going out to dinner.” 

“As in a date?” the man asked slyly, his smile turning into a knowing grin. 

“I just want to look my best,” Eddie chuckled nervously, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. 

“I got you covered, follow me.” 

The man flipped through the various suits, pulling an armful of them and leading Eddie to the dressing area. There were a good few options that Eddie actually liked, but there was one in particular that he was very drawn to. Subtle black plaid over a field of deep maroon, it stood out from the rest that were mostly dark blues or greys. He slid his chauffeur top off, trying on the suit jacket for size. It was a little big in the shoulders and needed to be brought in around the waist, but Eddie absolutely loved the way it looked on him as he examined himself in the mirror. 

“Did you want to try on any of the others?” the associate asked, although it seemed to be more of a rhetorical question with how much Eddie’s face had lit up when he put it on. 

“No, this one is perfect.” He tried on the matching pants as well, which definitely needed to be brought in on the length. The man called on a radio for a tailor, who materialized in a matter of moments, quickly and expertly taking Eddie’s measurements and pinning the suit where it needed to be taken in. 

“Uh, how long will the tailoring take?” Eddie asked nervously, heart sinking. 

“We have a turn-around time of a week,” the tailor answered, taking the suit as Eddie removed it. 

“Is there any way I can have it done by tonight?” Eddie offered the two employees a pleading look. “I don’t care what I gotta pay, I need this suit.” 

They exchanged glances, before the tailor looked back to Eddie. 

“Well, it can be done, but there will be a rush fee of—” 

“I don’t want to hear it, I just need it done before five.” 

Eddie thrust his credit card into the sales associates hand, who accepted it with a smile. 

“Of course, sir. We will take care of everything.” 

As the associate left with his card, Eddie pulled out his phone, opening the browser, and Googled “ _how to get ready for a date_.” He hated to admit it, but in the five years that he and Myra have been married, they had only gone on dates a handful of times, all of them being within the first year of their marriage. He was very aware that he was way beyond his depth when it came to first dates. 

He was about to click on the first article, when the sales associate came back. He quickly locked his phone, shoving it in his pocket. 

“Here’s your card sir, it should be done by 4 PM.”

“Oh, thanks.” Eddie grabbed the card with slightly shaky hands.

“Hope your date goes well, mister. She’s a lucky lady.” 

The man winked.

“Oh, uhhh, th-there’s no lady,” Eddie admitted shyly, scratching the back of his head. The sales associate audibly gasped.

“Oh, I do apologize! _He’s_ a lucky guy!” The associate said encouragingly, patting Eddie on the back. The action eased Eddie’s nerves, and he waved goodbye as he walked towards the exit, a slight spring in his step.

Eddie, back in his car, went back to look at his phone, clicking on the first article.

_‘Wikihow; How to get ready for a date’_

All of it mostly talked about how women get ready for dates ( _Well, that’s some sexist bullshit,_ he thought), but he did find some tips that were sort of helpful. 

For the rest of the afternoon he spent driving around mindlessly, trying to get his mind in a positive mood for this date. 

At this point he knew he could overthink this over and over, but it wouldn’t help his nerves. Instead he let his mind wander, daydreaming on divorcing Myra, being officially asked out by Richie, and how life would be finally being able to be happy, finally living his recently discovered truth. 

After a few hours, he went back to Saks to pick up his suit. He received a text from Richie as he was carefully hanging the suit behind the passenger seat of his car. 

_Hey Eds, I gotta go home real quick to get ready for tonight, I figured you needed to get ready too, so don’t worry about picking me up, I’ll just meet you at the restaurant. <3 _

Even though he wasn’t planning on going home, he did want to do a few more things before seeing Richie.

_Sounds good to me, I’ll see you tonight._

_;)_

This was actually happening. He was actually going on a date with Richie Tozier. He grabbed the suit, and ran back to the store, asking to wear it out instead. 

As he drove away, dressed in his new maroon suit, a small flower shop caught his eye. _Would Richie like flowers?_ Isn’t that what you do on a date?

Deciding against it, he made his way to the restaurant, he figured it wouldn’t hurt being there a little early. Or would that make him look too eager?

_Oh, whatever._

Eddie fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, cradling a bouquet of red camellias. The shop owner had said these would send the right message, and who was he to argue with a flower expert?

He walked up to the hostess desk.

“Hello, do you have a reservation?”

“Uhh yeah, I think it’s under Tozier?” 

“Yes, right this way sir. You’re the first one to arrive.”

His nightmare from last night flashed in his mind, but his fears were quelled when the hostess led him to a corner table—though rather private—was still part of the main dining area. 

“Is there anything you would like to drink in the meantime?”

“Uhhh, water’s fine.” Wanting to be left alone to attempt to extinguish his nerves, Eddie took his mind off everything by focusing on the menu. If he figured out what to eat now, that would be more time he could spend with Richie. 

“Oh wow, you’re here early!” A familiar voice called out, bringing a wide smile to Eddie’s face. 

“Well I figured since I wasn’t driving, you wouldn’t get here on time, and we’d lo—”

Eddie fell silent as a beautiful woman followed Richie, latched onto his arm. _What’s going on?_ His nightmare flashed in his mind once more.

“Uhh, Richie?” He chuckled awkwardly, “W-Who is this??”

“Oh Yeah! Eddie, this is Stacey, she’s my co-star for this film I’m working on. Stacey, this is Eddie!”

“Hi! Great to finally meet you, Richie talks about you all the time! And by all the time, I mean pretty much the entire ride over here,” Stacey laughed as she stretched her hand out, a friendly smile on her face.

Eddie just looked at it, as if the hand was an affront to him directly. He didn’t even know what to say, still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. After a moment of her hand hanging awkwardly in the air, Stacey dropped it with another small laugh. 

“Sorry, Eddie is a bit of a germaphobe,” Richie joked, throwing him a quizzical look. “So, uh, where’s Myra? Did she have to run to the little girls’ room?” 

Eddie blanched, lips pressing into a hard, thin line before he replied through gritted teeth, “She didn’t come. She, uh, wasn’t feeling too well.” 

Richie’s eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing into his hair, before he gave an awkward shrug as Stacey watched the exchange, nonplussed. Eddie saw Richie’s eyes land on the flowers, which were sitting next to him in the booth, and felt his face grow hot. _Did I really buy a whole fucking bouquet of flowers?_ He reprimanded himself internally. He wanted nothing more for them to just disappear, rather than trying to explain why he brought flowers to what he was slowly realizing was never supposed to be a date between him and Richie after all. 

“Oh, um, well—these are, uh, these—” he stammered, unsure of what to do or say about the flowers that were almost the exact same shade of red as his new suit. 

“What are you trying to do, steal my date away from me tonight?” Richie cracked with an easy grin, pulling Stacey’s chair out for her. 

Eddie couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the word “date,” his gut filling with utter shame and embarrassment. He didn’t notice the way Richie’s eyes slid over him then, drinking in the sight of him in that designer suit hungrily. 

“I mean look at the two of you! You’re making me feel underdressed!” 

Richie reached over the table and grabbed the flowers, shoving his face in them and taking a deep breath. 

“Geez, Spagheds, you got some great taste. These will look awesome in Stacey’s flat.”

He plucked a particularly gorgeous flower out of the bunch, turning towards Stacey to carefully tuck it behind her ear. It complimented her features perfectly, bringing out the flush in her cheeks and brightening her eyes. He handed her the rest of the bouquet, which she took gracefully and placed next to her. 

“Oh wow, who could have ever guessed that Trashmouth Tozier is such a _romantic,”_ Stacey teased with a gorgeous smile, batting her eyes at Richie in a way that made Eddie sick. 

“Oh, there’s a _lot_ you don’t know about me, babe,” Richie laughed suggestively, catching Eddie’s eye and throwing him a wink. “Isn’t that right, Eds?” 

“Not my name,” Eddie said, sharper than usual. An awkward silence fell over the table as they were finally approached by their server. 

“Good evening folks! My name is Guillermo and I will be taking care of you all tonight,” he said earnestly with a warm smile. “Can I get you started on anything to drink?” 

“Yeah, we’ll take your finest bottle of cab sauv for the table,” Richie said smoothly, and Eddie saw his hand drop down, more than sure it was currently resting on Stacey’s thigh. 

“I’m still waiting on a water,” Eddie said shortly, avoiding eye contact with his client. 

“I’ll have that right out,” Guillermo replied politely before hurrying away. 

Another heavy silence, and Eddie could find that all he could do was stare at the white table cloth, trying desperately not to think about his terrible dream, or the fact that he had gotten this entire situation so horribly wrong, or how angry it made him to see Stacey with that fucking flower in her hair, the flower that was supposed to be Richie’s, the flower that he had matched to the Gucci suit he spent entirely too much money on. 

“Earth to Eddie,” Richie’s voice cut through his angry musings like a hot knife. “You alright there, bud? You look like you’re gonna puke, dude.” 

“I’m fine,” he said harshly, sounding very much _not_ fine. 

“Are you sure, cause—”

“Just drop it already, would you Rich?” Eddie grumbled miserably, unable to contain himself any longer. 

He didn’t know what kind of game that Richie was playing here, but he didn’t want any part of it. All of it felt sickeningly familiar, reminding him so much of his dream that he was indeed beginning to feel nauseous. He half expected to find Myra under the table, performing lewd acts on both of the people currently sitting opposite of him. It took every ounce of self control to not yank the tablecloth back, frantically searching for the corpse version of his wife. He tried to take a deep, steadying breath, but took more of a panicked gasp instead. 

“You know, I bet you could make him feel so much better, Mr. Comedian,” Stacey chimed in, placing a delicate hand on Richie’s shoulder. Eddie threw her a look, alarmed at the suggestiveness of her statement before she continued, “They say laughter is the best medicine. Well, unless you’re diabetic—then I’m pretty sure insulin comes high on the list.” 

“My mother had diabetes,” Eddie said, completely deadpan. 

Stacey’s eyes went wide as she started to stammer a response, but her voice was drowned out by the cackle of Richie’s laughter. He slammed a hand down on the table, torso shaking from the force of his chuckles. Eddie felt the table tremble, once again forcibly reminded of his nightmare. Stacey eventually began to giggle too, assuming from Richie’s reaction that the whole thing was just some bad joke. Eddie’s face darkened, and very suddenly felt like the entire restaurant was staring at him, jeering and laughing along with Richie and his date. 

“What’s so fucking funny, asshole?” Eddie spat, nostrils flared as he stared daggers at Richie. 

“What? C’mon Eds, that was hilar—“ 

“That’s _not_ my name!” 

Eddie stood from his chair, almost running into their server as he rushed away from the table. Guillermo backed out of the way just in time, expertly balancing the drink tray laden with the wine and water that had been ordered. 

“Eddie—wait!” 

Richie ran after Eddie without a word to his date, who merely watched the scene unfold with a bewildered expression, offering an awkward, if not dazzling, smile to the nearby onlookers. 

Richie was just a few strides behind Eddie as he hurried out of the restaurant. The smaller man pushed through the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk, rounding a corner to escape the din of people in a darkened alleyway. Hot tears welled in his eyes, and he furiously wiped them away with the back of his hand. 

“Eddie—what gives, man?” Richie panted as he caught up with him, brows pulled together in concern. “I-I thought—”

“What kind of fucking game are you playing?” Eddie snapped, rounding on him. 

“What are you talking about, I—” 

“What are we _doing,_ Richie?” Eddie demanded, glaring up at the taller man with eyes that shined with tears. “What the _fuck_ are we doing here? You kiss me, text me all week, invite me on this dinner, make me think we _have_ something—and for what? So you can bring this girl and make me feel like a total asshole for thinking this was—that you and I— _FUCK!”_

Eddie threw his hands in the air in his frustration, the tears falling in thick waves down his cheeks now. 

“Eddie, just calm down, I can explain—” 

“DON’T FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Eddie roared, his neck red. “I can’t _believe_ I even let myself think that this was going to work out, that you could _ever—”_

His voice broke then, as he dissolved into full blown sobs. Eddie turned away, filled with anger and shame and humiliation, and every other terrible emotion boiling together in a horrible, nauseating mix. He felt Richie’s hand land heavily on his shoulder, warm and comforting as he began to offer a response. Eddie wrenched himself away, hiccuping from the force of his tears. He took a few steps away from the comedian, but felt the hand return to the same shoulder. 

“Get the FUCK away from me,” he snarled, yanking away. He lurched forward with the force of his momentum, nearly sailing towards the ground. He would have totally eaten shit, had Richie’s hand not shot out to catch him at the last moment, pulling him back and into his broad chest. 

_“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!”_

“Eds, I’m just trying to help—” Richie began, words cut off when Eddie shoved him away fiercely. 

Richie stumbled back a few steps from the strength of his push, but that didn’t stop him from reaching out towards the smaller man once again. Eddie roughly batted his arms away, another sob ripping from his throat as he continued to jostle him, fingers jamming harshly into his chest. 

“Stop, man,” Richie pleaded, softly. “Just—cut it out.” 

“Is this how you fucking celebrites get off?” Eddie demanded. “By fucking around with ordinary guys like me?” Eddie was closer to him now, continuing to shove him until Richie was backed against the dirty wall of the alleyway. 

“Don’t fucking push me,” Richie said in a low, uneven voice, heart beginning to pound in response to Eddie’s aggression towards him. _“Stop.”_

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” Eddie’s hands were rougher now, thoughts consumed by the white hot anger that had built up within him. “What the _fuck_ are you gonna do about it?” 

And then Richie shoved him back, taking Eddie by surprise and causing him to falter back. In a split second they were both in each other’s faces, cussing and yelling in a confusing rush of adrenaline and emotions. Eddie was still pushing at Richie’s with all of his strength now, and the taller man had taken just about as much as he could bear. It was Richie who finally grabbed a handful of Eddie’s dress shirt, buttons popping as he reared back a closed fist. Eddie’s nose exploded in pain as that fist collided with his face, a hot rivulet of blood immediately filling mouth and running down his chin.

They stumbled apart then, chests heaving as they stared at each other in pure shock. Eddie’s heart was fluttering furiously, the dull throbbing in his nose in unison with his racing pulse. There was an instant tightening in his groin as he saw his own blood dripping at his feet. 

Eddie Kaspbrak was an anxious man, who lived in constant fear of coming down with any kind of ailment or bodily injury. As a result, his exposure to pain was slim to none, and he lived a life relatively free of physical afflictions. He’d been raised to fear pain, to take care of his health and well-being above all else in life, a lesson that had been well-hammered into his brain by his mother and carried on by his wife. So now, in this dark, dirty alleyway, with blood steadily pouring from his aching nose, he felt a thrill rise in his gut that was unlike anything he had ever felt before, even greater than those he had felt in the past week with Richie. And as he saw Richie’s knuckles, bruised and covered in what could only be his blood, Eddie realized how his pants had grown almost unbearably tight in almost an instant, and he was more confused than he had been in his entire life. 

“Holy shit, Eds, I’m so sorry,” Richie gasped. “Eddie, I didn’t mean—” 

His eyes followed Eddie’s, which had trailed down almost as if Eddie needed to confirm with himself that he had developed one of the fastest and hardest erections of his entire life. Richie’s eyes darted back up, catching Eddie’s with a deep, almost hungry stare. Chests still heaving, he took one step towards the smaller man, who in that same moment launched himself at the comedian. Their lips found each other, hot and desperate, and Richie’s mouth filled with the metallic taste of Eddie’s blood. 

Richie tore himself away, and shoved Eddie harshly onto the wall behind the cover of a large dumpster. The shorter man himself latched his lips onto Richie’s neck, sucking on the exposed skin and causing Richie to let out a sharp hiss.

“Easy now, Eds—you’re gonna leave marks,” Richie groaned deeply, his shaking hands clumsily loosening Eddie’s belt.

“Thats the fucking idea, you idiot. Fucking payback,” Eddie growled in response, slapping Richie’s fumbling hands away to make quick work of his belt and zipper, pulling his underwear down enough for his throbbing cock to spring out. 

Meanwhile, Richie’s own rapidly hardening member was quickly making its presence known as he shoved down his pants to release it. Both free from their confines, hungry lips met each other once more, teeth clacking together almost painfully from the sheer force. Richie was pushing Eddie harder into the wall, almost as if he was trying to meld their bodies together completely. Eddie was considerably shorter than Richie, hips buckling wildly into this thigh as he loomed over him, wanting so desperately for any sort of friction. 

Richie noticed his little dilemma, and smirked into their kiss. In one quick swoop, Richie bent down and grabbed Eddie’s ass—causing Eddie to yelp out loud in surprise as he was hoisted up. Eddie, by instinct, hooked his legs around Richie’s waist, and the two men moaned loudly at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against each other. 

Eddie’s heart pounded fiercely as he felt Richie fondling the flesh of his ass, letting out a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. He shifted in Richie’s arms, hungry for more friction. The comedian was only happy to comply, as his hips began to thrust forward rapidly, his cock sliding against Eddie’s. Breath catching in his throat, Eddie was overwhelmed by the sudden stimulation, enthralled in just how effortlessly Richie was holding him up against that filthy wall. He was highly aware of how very easy it would be for just _anyone_ to walk through this alleyway and see them there, hips furiously pumping together. The idea scared him, but there was an excitement there that he never expected. 

Eddie reached down between them, catching their throbbing cocks with one hand, his other hooked around Richie’s shoulder to hold himself up. Their lips continued locked as Eddie pumped his fingers up and down as quickly as he could, relishing in the mind-blowing feel of Richie’s dick against his own. His hand, however, was too small, unable to contain the girth of both of their erections as Richie continued to jut forward. 

“Let me give you a _hand,”_ Richie joked as he pulled away for a split second to catch his breath. 

“Do you ever shut—ahhhh, _fuck,”_ Eddie’s words evolved into a guttural groan as Richie’s large, warm hand reached down to envelope his own, helping to hold their cocks together tightly. 

“ _Fffffuck Eds, Ke_ —keep going,” Richie moaned into Eddie’s mouth, a small trail of drool running down the corner of his own as their tongues continued to dance fervidly. “Fuck, that feels so fucking _good.”_

“Rich— Oh god, _Richieeee,_ ” Eddie continued to moan in abandon, only focusing on the beautiful feeling of finally having Richie on him, finally feeling his warmth, and wanting so badly to _feel more. “HolyfuckingshitRich_ —”

 _“_ God, Eddie, I’m not gonna last _at all.”_

“Richie, Rich—fuck, _pleeease.”_

Eddie’s hand left their groins, reaching out to bury itself in Richie’s soft hair, grabbing a fistful and holding on for dear life. Feeling the slick of precum, Richie’s hand flew somehow ever faster, drawing out a needy whine from the shorter man. He latched his lips on Eddie’s neck, sucking on one of the visible bruises peeking out from his collar.

“Goddd, Richie, Harder—MMM harderrrr,” Eddie pleaded. Richie responded by practically sinking his teeth into Eddie’s skin—not quite breaking skin—but enough to leave a gnarly bite mark. The pain, however, did something to Eddie, spreading through his skin like a shockwave. 

_“HOLY FUCK RICHIE!!”_ Eddie cried, his hips bucking wildly as Richie bit down somehow harder, his eyes rolling back from the sheer amount of pleasure it brought him. “SHIT! Again—please, do that agaiinnnn!” 

“Keep it down, Eds,” Richie whispered roughly. The last thing he wanted was for a passerby to hear them and end their fun. He complied, though, continuing to suck and leave bite marks on the shorter man, his hips pushing Eddie further onto the wall.

“Eddie, holy fuck—Eddie, _Eddie,_ ” Richie moaned into his ear. Hearing Richie chant his name like that—like it was his religion, like he was worshipping his very being—brought Eddie that much closer to his end, showering him in pure euphoria.

“Rich, I—Richhhh! I’m close, so _fucking_ close.” 

More tears were building in Eddie’s eyes, this time from the sheer intensity of pleasure that he was feeling in a magnitude he had never known. He felt one of those tears escape, streaming down his cheek, and with the way Richie was staring at him, Eddie wondered if he looked as wrecked as he felt.

“Come on, baby, fucking cum for me,” Richie growled deeply, his hips pistoning forward as he chased his climax. He was using that voice again, the one Eddie blearily remembered from the first night they spent together, when Richie had demanded that he sleep in his bed. That deep, gravelly voice awakened something in him, driving him wild, putting him right on the brink of orgasm. There was no way he could deny Richie _anything_ when he used that voice, so Eddie did exactly as he was told. 

“Oh _fuck_ —Rich—Richie, _RICHIE!”_

“Holyshit _Eddieee!!!!”_

The two moaned in unison as they finally reached their end, their erections bursting all over Eddie’s blazer. Eddie’s arms were still wrapped around Richie, bringing his chest to meet his as his orgasm tore through him. 

“Richie? Eddie? You two out here??”

Eddie froze as the sound of a female voice echoed through the otherwise empty alleyway. Stacey was peering from around the dumpster, eyes widening as they landed on the men in a very telling position. Eddie jumped out of Richie’s arms in a flash, yanking up his pants with a yelp. He bolted away from Richie and past Stacey, disappearing around the corner without another word. Richie quickly tucked himself back into his pants, zipping and buttoning them shut. Chest still rising and falling rapidly, he slumped into the wall, legs suddenly feeling very weak. 

“Um, did you two just—” Stacey began to ask. 

“Yeah,” Richie panted, nodding his head. “Well—I mean, not—” Richie made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, pushing his pointer finger of his opposite hand through it in a suggestive motion. “I guess we kind of just jerked off. Or something. But, _holy fuck.”_

When Steve had mentioned this date with Stacey, he neglected to mention to Richie that she was an old friend of his, a co-star from his early _Saturday_ _Night On-Air_ days who had also risen to similar fame in her own right. He had been delighted to realize he wouldn’t be spending the night with a stranger after all, quickly and quietly divulging the details of his plans for the night, and of the true nature of his relationship to Eddie. She had happily agreed to be his beard, promising to play the part well. Richie was still struggling to figure out where everything had gone so wrong. 

“Is that _blood?”_

“What?” He brought his hand up to his mouth, red staining his fingertips. “Oh, fuck. That’s Eddie’s.” 

“Oh my God, what _happened?”_ she asked in concern.

Richie struggled to find his footing, adrenaline still rushing from the very public relief he had just experienced. He slowly made his way out of the alley, Stacey walking beside him as they made their way to a bench across the street. 

“I don’t know, I came out to check on him and he started yelling at me. I think he thought this was a date, like, between _us.”_ Richie cradled his head in his hands. “He started shoving me and I just—snapped. I can’t believe I fucking decked him right in the face.” 

“So I’m assuming that happened before you—”

“Yup. But then he was like, _rock hard,_ and then we were kissing again? And then it just kind of…” his voice trailed off, and he looked down at his shirt that was smeared with semen. “Oh, gross. I mean, it’s kind of hot but still gross.” He zipped up his jacket to hide his dirtied shirt. 

Stacey laughed, placing a gentle hand on Richie’s back and rubbing in slow, comforting circles. 

“It sounds like it was all just a misunderstanding. I’m sure all you need is to talk to him,” she offered. 

Richie leaned into her touch, resting his head on her shoulder. 

“Why can’t life just be easy?” he groaned.

“Because then we wouldn’t learn anything,” she answered simply, slinging her arm around his shoulder. 

“What am I supposed to learn from tonight?” 

“Hmm, I don’t want to sound like a huge, insensitive dick here, but...maybe it’s _time_ , you know?” 

“Time for what?” Richie asked, well aware of what she meant. . 

“I think you know.” 

He did. 

“You know what? I think you might be right,” Richie surrendered not only to Stacey, but to himself. “It’s fucking _time.”_

Eddie slammed the door to his car, chest heaving, each breath coming out shorter and shorter until he felt he could no longer breathe. He scrambled for the glove box with trembling hands, snatching the spare inhaler he kept there and shoving it into his mouth. Depressing the top end, he sucked down the bitter cloud of medicine that opened his throat up again, allowing him to gulp down deep breaths of air. When he brought the inhaler away, one side of it was stained with blood that was still caked around his mouth. His eyes darted down to his ruined jacket, shining with a mix of his and Richie’s seed, dark drops of blood browning on the lapel. He yanked it off of himself, balling it up and throwing it to the passenger seat. 

He stared blankly at the steering wheel, eyes not really seeing as he tried to make sense of what had just unfolded. There were more tears in his eyes as he jammed the keys into the ignition, utterly bewildered, angry, and above all: hurt. Hurt that Richie would be capable of pulling such a stunt, angry for kidding himself that the celebrity could be interested in him for anything more than sex. He had more than proved that tonight. 

He maneuvered out of the parking garage, tires squealing as he forced his way into the flow of traffic. Catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror at a stop light, Eddie groaned out loud. The blood was caked thick down the side of his mouth and chin, nose swollen and bruised. It didn’t feel broken, but he had a feeling Myra would want to take him to the hospital anyway. He had no idea how he was going to explain this away and that familiar, sinking feeling of dread reached its tendrils into every crevice of his mind and body. 

Eddie was a few blocks away from his home when he realized the night’s outcome was so much worse than he could have possibly imagined. He was supposed to be with Richie still, possibly having an appropriate amount of drinks, maybe heading over to his condo to finally seal the deal. Instead, he was headed home in defeat with a bloody nose, to a wife who would have more questions than he had the time or energy to prepare for. He barely registered the tears that were pouring out of his eyes as he pulled into his driveway, wanting more than anything to run as far away from there as possible. He tried not to think about Richie, and how he was supposed to be his escape from this terrible life, how Eddie had so much riding on a date that wasn’t even a fucking date to begin with. 

His eyes landed on the balled up jacket in the passenger seat, not wanting to think about the sheer amount of money he had impulsively spent on it. He definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that it was probably ruined now, or _how_ it had gotten ruined. Eddie didn’t have time to allow himself to linger on what had just happened in that alleyway. He couldn’t replay the feeling of Richie’s cock against his own, the way Richie had moaned his name, the feeling of his teeth sinking into his skin. He couldn’t think about any of these things, because it was no longer just a fantasy, and now it would only ever be a memory. He and Richie had no future together. Holding on to that moment would only cause him more pain, more aching that he wasn’t sure he could handle any longer. 

He had no idea how long he stayed sitting in that car, face wet with tears and blood. He wept until the tears stopped and his eyes felt dry and sandy. Hiccupping quietly to himself, Eddie stared at his own puffy eyes through the rearview. He lifted his head up, observing the fresh marks on his neck, more like actual bites than hickeys, the outlines of Richie’s teeth imprinted darkly on his skin. The collar of his white button down was wide open, buttons long gone from where Richie had grabbed a fistful of his shirt. 

Eddie sighed heavily to himself. He had to face Myra sooner or later. Ignoring the fact that he would much rather sleep in his car than walk into his house, he grabbed the ruined jacket and hastily wiped at his face with one of the sleeves. Managing to clear away most of the blood, Eddie finally exited his car. He held the balled up jacket behind his back, hoping to hightail it to the bathroom and hide it away before Myra had the chance to see it. 

Praying inwardly, Eddie opened the front door as quietly as possible, walking carefully into his house. He turned the knob as he shut it to avoid any unnecessary clicking, holding his breath as he silently made his way down the front hall. His foot was on the first stair, and he was hoping that he had made it scot-free, when Myra’s voice rang from the dining room: 

“Edward, are you home? Come here, please.” 

“Uh, hey Myra. I just got here,” Eddie called out in response, trying to keep his voice steady. “I was just going to shower before dinner—” 

_“Now,_ Edward,” Myra insisted with a sharp voice.

“Yes, dear,” Eddie surrendered. 

Stomach doing backflips, he quickly stashed his jacket in the hallway closet before hurrying into the dining room. Mrya sounded pissed, and her patience was already thin enough as it was. She was sitting at her usual spot, hands firmly clasped together in front of her. She said nothing about his roughed up state as he emerged, only nodding at the chair opposite of her. He took a seat, noticing a blank binder that had been placed where his plate usually sat. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, although something deep in his gut told him it was nothing good. He _knew_ what was in that binder. 

“I think you know what it is,” her unnervingly soft voice echoed his thoughts as her blue eyes fixed him with a cold stare. When he found nothing to say, she continued harshly, “Go ahead, Edward. _Open it.”_

He reached out with a shaking hand, eyes darting nervously back and forth between the binder and his wife, who looked very much like she wanted to reach across the table and throttle him. It was then that he knew his suspicions were correct: he knew _exactly_ what was in that binder. Eddie suddenly wished that he was back in his nightmare—being devoured by that fucking clown—rather than dealing with whatever was about to go down right then and there. His fingers found the edge of the notebook, flipping it open. 

A printed picture of Richie’s cock stared up at him, cum leaking out of his head and onto his hands. Eddie wasn’t sure why he continued to flip through the rest of the pictures, as if to confirm that she had found every single photo he and Richie had sent each other, had read every single message and screenshotted them all to be neatly printed and displayed, had collected every single iota of evidence proving Eddie’s infidelity. 

_“I know everything,”_ Myra hissed through gritted teeth. “You want to act like a dog? Fine.” She reached under the table and tossed a large, fluffy cushion at him. “Here’s your new bed. Dogs don’t get to sleep on the couch. Now, your phone?”

“Myra, I—” 

“Your _phone,_ Edward.” 

Eddie crumpled under her stare, bottom lip trembling as he dug into his pants and fished out his phone, shoving it into her waiting hand. 

“That’s a _good_ boy,” Myra patted him on the head. “We’ll finish our talk tomorrow morning.”  
  
“But I have work—” 

Myra laughed out loud then, a harsh, jeering sound. 

“Oh, Eddie-bear, I don’t think you understand. You’re never working for that man again. Not after what he’s done to you, how he’s confused you. Don’t you see? We have a lot of work to do if we want to make you right again.” She stood, holding eye contact with her terrified husband as she made her way around the table. “We can’t have word getting around that I married a _faggot,_ can we?” 

She left the room, flipping the lights off as she went and leaving Eddie alone, in the dark. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter was difficult to write. As in nauseating. I blame Myra. Hope it was worth it. -Lynds 
> 
> We promise we swear we love Eddie and Richie, they're not having a good time now, and shit's gonna go wild. -Bats


	6. Eddie Gets Thrown a Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week 
> 
> TW: for drug use, gore and body horror, non-con kink/pup play, mental/physical abuse

If it wasn’t for the blaring alarm clock that refused to let up—no matter what he did—Richie would have just gone back to sleep, his head pounding painfully. However, the alarm was just making the aching in his head worse. Who’s big idea was it to put his alarm clock across the room so that he would have had to actively get up to turn it off? 

He detangled himself from his blankets with a groan, not even sure how he had gotten home in the first place. As he looked down at his pajama laden body, he realized he couldn’t even recall  _ who  _ had brought him home—who had helped him into his PJs, who had gotten him properly into bed instead of passing out on his couch. 

As he stepped over the numerous pillows he threw in attempts to shut off the alarm, he caught the corner of one with his foot, sailing towards the floor. His arm shot out to catch himself against the wall just before his head collided with the dresser. Slightly shaken, Richie straightened up, finally shutting off the blaring alarm. He had half a mind to crawl right back into bed when a little sticky note next to his alarm clock caught his eye, along with a tall glass of water. Grabbing the piece of paper, he held it close to his face, eyesight blurred from the lack of glasses and abundance of grogginess. 

_ Drink when you wake up, and remember what we talked about _

_ -Stacey _

Suddenly the events from the night prior flooded his mind, hitting him like a brick. The date, Eddie in a suit, the flowers, Stacey, him punching Eddie, their time in the alleyway, and finally—his and Stacey’s conversation afterwards and the copious amounts of alcohol he drank throughout said conversation.

Richie remembered the absolutely terrified and distraught look Eddie had, and how it felt like a stab in the gut that he might have been the reason for it. How the night could have gone so wrong was beyond him—the plan was so perfect! But then Eddie showed up dressed to the nines with a bouquet of flowers, alone, and Richie couldn’t figure out why the hell he hadn’t brought Myra. It was now clear to Richie that Eddie had been under the impression that they would be going on an actual date, just the two of them. Perplexed, Richie reached for his phone that was charging nearby (God bless Stacey.) He pulled up the messages between him and Eddie, trying to find anything that might explain his reaction last night, looking to see why the man had looked so absolutely destroyed the entire night.

Scrolling through the thread, he felt a lump in his throat grow as he realized his mistake.

Richie had only asked Eddie to dinner. Nothing else. No explanation for his genius plan, not even a mention of Myra’s or Stacey’s names for that matter. Richie mentally cursed himself; he couldn’t believe that in his fucking drunken state, he had not told him a single word of his plan. It was no wonder Eddie had the wrong idea. Richie then realized what it must have looked like, asking Eddie out on a date and then showing up like a complete fucking asshole with Stacey on his arm.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Richie said out loud with a sour face. “He brought me fucking  _ flowers.” _

_ (we finally agree on something you are a fucking idiot don’t you ever learn that you will always mess up anything good that comes your way eddie must absolutely despise your guts now) _

Richie had to make things right, to explain to Eddie this whole misunderstanding. Eddie would realize it’s just the sort of stupid mistake only  _ Richie _ would make and forgive him. 

Right?

Richie wasn’t so sure, an anxious rock forming in the pit of his stomach. 

All thoughts of climbing back into bed now feeling like a distant memory, Richie sighed as he resolved to start getting ready for his day. There was no way he’d be able to get back to sleep with his nerves in such a wrecked state. Plus, if he missed another day of work he was sure that Steve would actually kill him. 

Freshly showered and shaved, Richie made his way to the living room. He couldn’t even think about eating breakfast, stomach still in knots due to a combination of anxiety and the hangover he was still nursing. Locking his door on the way out, Richie considered sending a text to Eddie to let him know he was on his way out. His driver was never late, though, so he just assumed that he would be waiting for him downstairs. The elevator came to a halt on the ground level, and Richie anxiously crossed the lobby, ready to see Eddie and have the chance to explain the entire debacle that was the night before. 

Squinting against the harsh sunlight that greeted him when he exited the condominium building, Richie blinked when his eyes came back to focus, blearily trying to understand what he was seeing. There was a car parked on the curb, very similar to the one that Eddie drove, but it was a navy blue instead of black. There was a young man wearing a similar uniform to the one Eddie usually wore, standing besides the back passenger door, opening it politely as Richie approached. 

“Good Morning, Mr. Tozier! My name is Jeremy, I’ll be your driver from now on,” the stranger stated, the professional tone unfamiliar to Richie.

“Wait, what?” Richie asked blankly, nonplussed. “Where’s Eddie??” 

This was wrong, this was all _ wrong.  _ Eddie was supposed to pick him up, and Richie was going to talk to Eddie to finally clear everything up!

“Oh, uh—I’m not certain, sir,” Jeremy stammered, trying to maintain his polite demeanor. “I was given the assignment this morning.”

Richie at this point was shocked silent, staring hard at his new driver for a few moments, before yanking his phone out of his pocket and dialing Steve’s number furiously. The ringing as Richie waited for Steve to pick up seemed to go on for ages.

“C’mon c’mon c’mon!!! Fucking pick up Steve!!” 

“Mr. Tozier?” Jeremy asked uncertainly as Richie paced a few feet away, trying to put space between them.

“Just give me a minute,” Richie replied, turning his back to the man. At this point there wouldn’t be a way to prevent Jeremy from hearing his call, but the less he heard the better. 

A second later he heard Steve’s voice from the other side of the line.

“Richie?? Don’t tell me you’re calling ou—”

“STEVE WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING PROMISED!!” Richie interrupted, not caring at this point what Steve was going to say.

“What the hell are you—”

“EDDIE! YOU HIRED ANOTHER DRIVER!” 

“Richie, I don’t know you’re talking about,” Steve said flatly. “Did he not show up?” 

“No, some guy named Jeremy is here,” Richie huffed, nostrils flared. “Where the hell is Eddie?” 

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Steve repeated. “He must have sent someone else. I swear I don’t have anything to do with it. I really don’t have time for this, Rich, please just come to work.” 

Richie didn’t respond, hanging up and furiously scrolling to Eddie’s contact in his phone. It rang once, before a robot voice told him that the mailbox was full. He called again. And again. And again. No answer. 

“What the  _ fuck,”  _ he muttered under his breath, shoving his phone deep into his pocket before turning back towards his new driver. Jeremy stood there still, eyes darting nervously from his Richie to his phone. “Take me to Eddie’s house.” 

“Uh, I don’t think I’m allowed to—”

“I don’t give a  _ fuck,”  _ Richie cut him off. “Either take me to Eddie’s or I take an Uber and you’ll have to explain to your own boss why I had to use one of his competitors.” 

“B-but, sir—” 

“Nope! Don’t wanna hear it. Now are you going to take me or not?” 

Jeremy looked defeated as he surrendered, “Uh, I guess so.” 

“Good choice,” Richie said as he opened the door for him, ducking into the car. 

Myra Kapsbrak woke her husband swiftly, with little to no warmth or care, yanking the lone blanket from his crumpled form. Eddie was curled up pathetically on the mid-sized dog bed she had forced him to sleep on, neck and back throbbing with a dull ache. 

“Get up,” she snapped, stomping around him as she made a show out of making the bed she had slept on alone. “It’s time for you to take your medication.” 

Eddie blinked at her blearily, reaching up to rub his sleepy face. He flinched when his fingers brushed against his tender nose, and the events from the night before came rushing back to him in an instant: the failed not-date, his fight with Richie in the alleyway and what it led to, the two of them desperately rutting against each other behind a fucking dumpster. And then coming home to Myra, who had revealed that she in fact knew of everything Eddie had been doing behind her back.  _ Fuck.  _

“What are you  _ doing?”  _ Myra demanded, towering over Eddie. “I said to get  _ up.” _

She reached down and gripped his arm, yanking him to his feet. He let out a small yelp as she marched him down the stairs, still in only his underwear, practically dragging him as he struggled to find his footing. 

“Myra, wait—” 

“Oh, hush!” 

She led him into the kitchen, where she had his assortment of daily medications lined up along the counter. She released her vice-like hold on him, grabbing an individual serving of plain yogurt from the fridge. Eddie watched silently as she made quick work of crushing his pills between two spoons, sprinkling the powder into the yogurt and mixing it all together. 

Eddie wanted to protest, knowing very well he was capable of swallowing the medication himself—but at this point, he didn’t want to say something that could further upset his wife, knowing he was fully at her mercy. All hopes of escaping Myra and the way she treated him had disappeared. He was stuck. Trapped. Doomed to be in Myra’s suffocating embrace until death parted them. 

“Eat,” she instructed, placing the cup of yogurt on the counter before him. He did as he was told, choking down the bitter, creamy substance until there was nothing left. “Good Eddie. See how easy things can be when you just  _ listen?  _ Oh, that reminds me, I need to show you something. _ ”  _

She picked up her phone then, clicking and scrolling intently while Eddie stared blankly at the counter. The literal cocktail of pills he had ingested was hitting his otherwise empty stomach quicker than usual, and it suddenly felt like the air around him had thickened into a gelatinous substance, hindering his movements and covering him like a blanket. 

“Ah! Here it is.” 

Myra turned her phone to him, which was open to some sort of tabloid article blaring the headline  _ ‘TRASHMOUTH DAZZLES STUNNING STARLET,’  _ complete with some paparazzi shots of Richie and the woman he recognized as Stacey, laughing it up at some bar he didn’t recognize. Even in the blurry picture he could see that Richie’s neck was covered in hickeys, and for one wild moment he thought that Myra knew that Eddie was the one that had put them there. 

“I just need you to see how ridiculous this all was,” she continued. “The two of you. Did you really think that you meant  _ anything  _ to this depraved man? Eddie-bear, I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Eddie looked at the photo, and saw Richie’s smiling face in the photo, as if they hadn’t gone at each other like animals earlier that night, as if he were the furthest thing on his mind. Staring at the picture of Richie and Stacey, he couldn’t deny that they made a really good-looking couple.

“Do you see, Eddie-bear? He doesn’t care about you, you’re nothing to him.” Myra raised a hand, bringing Eddie’s face to look directly at her. “I’m the only one in this world that appreciates you, that loves you. I’m the only one that knows what you need. I’m the only one who knows how to take care of you. Do you understand?” 

Eddie remained silent, still peeking over to look at the tabloid, tears stinging the corner of his eyes at the sight of Richie mid-laugh, probably again at a joke Stacey said. Stacey was someone Richie could take out publicly, someone he could kiss publicly, someone who’s hand he could hold without the fear of people staring and whispering about it. Someone who could build his career, not absolutely destroy it.

“Understood, Eddie?” Myra repeated through gritted teeth, her hand gripping his chin and squeezing his lower jaw painfully.

“Yes, dear,” was all Eddie could say, his chest tightening at how much sense she was making—as much as it hurt him at his core to admit.

The answer seemed to satisfy his wife, as she relinquished her qrip much to Eddie’s relief. She didn’t move away, however, but instead caressed his cheek. Eddie flinched away from her touch, and a deep frown formed on Myra’s face. 

“Don’t forget, Eddie-bear. We’re meant to be together.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened as she smashed their lips together. The action felt so wrong to Eddie, and he shivered in slight disgust at the feel of her tongue attempting to pry his lips open. Myra seemed to take a kind of sick gratification at the actual shiver that ran up Eddie, smirking into the kiss. Eddie pulled away sharply at the feel of her tongue in his mouth, bile rising in the back of his throat at the taste, and in that moment he knew he would do anything to never have to taste that again. 

“U-uhh, I have to go to work, Myra,” he said quickly, hoping to find an escape from his wife as soon as possible. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no, Eddie-bear. Don’t you worry about that. I took care of  _ everything,”  _ Myra reassured her husband, the sickeningly sweet tone of her voice dripping from her mouth like venom. “I called one of your drivers to take over while you were sleeping. You never have to worry about seeing that bad bad man ever again.” 

“Myra, you shouldn’t have done that!” Eddie could feel the fog in his head continue to grow, but even in his altered state, he knew that Myra’s boldness would spell nothing but trouble for him. 

His wife’s eyes darkened, her jaw clenched. The look caused Eddie’s face to blanch, knowing that was not what he should have said.

“Why do you still question me, Edward?” Myra seethed, her voice suspiciously even. “Why don’t you trust your own wife?”

“Well, Myra, you can’t just—”

“Don’t you see I’m just trying to make you happy? Trying to keep you safe? I am trying to give you everything you want, but you’re still thinking about that man?!”

“But Myra, Richie’s manager—”

Eddie was sharply interrupted by the sound of a slap echoing in the kitchen. It took him a moment to register the flaring pain in his cheek, and he realized in pure shock that Myra had just slapped him clean across the face. 

“YOU DO NOT GET TO TALK ABOUT HIM ANYMORE!” Myra shrieked, her face glowing red in anger. “I FORBID YOU FROM EVER SEEING HIM, AND THAT’S  _ THAT, _ EDWARD!” 

Eddie stared at Myra in complete and utter shock. Sure, she had the not-so-great habit of squeezing his arm whenever she was upset with him, but in all of the years they had been together, she had never laid a hand on him like this. Even Myra looked slightly shocked at her actions. 

“M—Myra? Why d-did you….”

“Oh Eddie-bear, I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” Myra tried touching Eddie’s rapidly reddening cheek, but he flinched away from her fingers. “You shouldn’t have mentioned that name in front of me. Surely you understand, Eddie-bear.”

Eddie couldn’t find a response, bottom lip trembling as he looked up at his wife. 

“Oh, don’t act so  _ wounded.”  _ Her tone went from apologetic to resentful in a flash. “This is  _ nothing  _ compared to the hurt and humiliation that you’ve put me through this last week. Imagine the shock I felt when I heard  _ my husband _ touching himself, telling another  _ man  _ that he wanted to—to choke on—oh, I can’t even say it! It’s so DISGUSTING.” 

Eddie recoiled at the way that word rolled off of his wife’s tongue, full of contempt and revulsion. 

“Which reminds me, you have another appointment today. We need to get you tested.” 

“Tested?” Eddie asked, blinking in confusion. 

“Yes, tested.” Myra glared at him, still standing only in his underwear, cowering before her like a scared child. “To make sure that nasty man didn’t pass on some sort of disease. We’ll be lucky if you’re still clean.” She reached under the kitchen sink, producing a gallon of bleach. “Now let’s go upstairs and give you a nice bath—”

There was a sudden pounding at the door, hard and fast. Eddie’s head slowly turned in the direction of the noise, wondering who could be knocking so ardently at this time. Myra, however, seemed to know exactly who was there, face darkening as her eyes followed Eddie’s. 

“Stay here,” she instructed, before leaving Eddie alone in the kitchen. 

He tried to listen intently, but the pharmaceuticals were  _ really  _ hitting then, and all he could hear was a dull buzzing noise. Eddie was aware of his feet slowly moving him out of the kitchen, and he stumbled into the hallway. Something wasn’t right. He took these meds every morning, and he was never impaired like this. Hands gripping the wall to help him keep balance, he slowly made his way towards the living room. Myra was there, blocking the doorway as she growled to the visitor, “...shouldn’t be here! If you don’t leave I’m going to call the police!” 

“C’mon, lady, I just need to talk to Eddie real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair,” a familiar voice pleaded, and Eddie’s heart stopped when he realized who it was. 

“I don’t think so!” Myra snarled. “You’re not getting anywhere near my  _ husband,  _ you disgusting—” 

“Richie?” Eddie called out weakly from the hallway. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Eds?” Richie’s head poked through the door as Myra cried out in anger, trying to shove him back out. “Ouch—will you cut it out!” 

_ “You get away from us!”  _ she screamed, shrill and piercing. 

“Aw, can it,” Richie sneered as he managed to squeeze past her, crossing the living room in a few long strides. He was at Eddie’s side in nearly an instant, surveying his state in horror—his partial nudity, the bruises blooming on his arm, his dark, bloodshot eyes. “Holy shit, Eddie—what the fuck happened to you?” 

He reached out a hand to help Eddie—who had slid halfway down the wall by this point—when Myra screeched at the top of her lungs,  _ “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY HUSBAND YOU PERVERT!”  _

She ran at him then, shoving him with the full force of her weight. Richie was caught by surprise, toppling to the ground as Eddie watched helplessly. He had never seen Myra like this before, so angry, so  _ unhinged _ —chest heaving as her mouth was pulled into a feral snarl. It was enough to scare Eddie to his very core; if she had hurt him so easily—the man that she insisted she loved so very deeply—then what was she capable of doing to Richie? 

There was panic and fear in Richie’s eyes as Myra took another step towards him; he didn’t want to hurt the lady—how would that look to the press? He could see the headline now:  _ Comedian Ends Career by Assaulting Gay Lover’s Wife.  _ But the way she was staring daggers at him made the comedian realize that she probably knew all about his and Eddie’s little secret, and he had no idea what she would do next. His mind raced, recalling every story he’d ever heard about scorned lovers going ballistic over their partner’s infidelity—chopping off dicks or resorting to flat out murder. He scooted backwards, away from her and into the kitchen. 

_ “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”  _ Myra bellowed, ignoring Eddie’s pleas as she followed Richie into the next room. 

Richie was on his feet now, desperately looking for an exit when he was distracted by the numerous pill bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. His eyes landed on the empty yogurt container, and the spoons dusted with white powder. Eddie’s weakened state made sense in one horrible realization, and all thoughts of escape fled Richie’s mind, replaced with white hot anger. He rounded on Myra, who was right behind him now, feeling a sort of satisfaction when she cowered slightly as he towered over her. 

“What the fuck is this?” he spat, pointing an accusatory finger at the copious amounts of drugs sitting on the counter. “Did you give him  _ all  _ of that?” 

“That’s  _ none _ of your business,” Myra hissed, shielding Eddie behind her great arms. “You need to leave right this instant.” 

“Fuck that, I came to talk to Eddie, but  _ this _ —” Richie swirled his finger over the air around the pill bottles. “—is fucking twisted.  _ No one  _ needs this amount of drugs at one time. Are you trying to fucking kill him?” 

_ “You _ don’t get to tell me what’s right for my  _ husband,”  _ the last word dripped from Myra’s mouth like poison. 

“Oh my god, Sonia, would you just fucking  _ look  _ at him!” Richie yelled, his hand pointing savagely at Eddie, who was still sagging against the wall for support. 

Myra’s response was lost to Eddie as he fuzzily wondered why Richie’s statement felt so weird, so  _ off.  _ He ran the words over and over in his head, trying to pinpoint exactly which one was making him feel so damn uneasy, making him feel like he was going to throw up the meager contents of his stomach. 

And then it clicked. 

_ Sonia.  _

Richie had called his wife by his mother’s name. 

“Wait a minute,” he said feebly, voice drowned out by the two that were still arguing at full volume. “Hey. Listen to me. LISTEN!”

Richie and Myra stopped then, turning to stare at Eddie, who was swaying where he stood. 

“What did you just fucking call her?” Eddie asked in a low voice, staring up at Richie with glazed eyes. 

“Huh?”

“Just now. Repeat exactly what you said,” Eddie ordered sharply.

“I just said she needed to take a look at you! An idiot could see she’s doping—”

“You called her Sonia.” 

“Sonia?? No I didn’t.” Richie turned back to Myra and growled, “See how fucked up he is?? I’m taking Eddie right now, and I’m calling the cops, you won’t fucking get away with this, you bitch.” 

“Take one more step towards my husband, and see what happens,” Myra shot back.

Eddie knew what he’d heard. Richie knew Myra’s name, and Eddie knew for a fact that he had  _ never  _ talked about his mother to the comedian before. So how the fuck did the name “Sonia” come out of his mouth just now? 

The only reason that made any sense to Eddie was that Richie somehow knew his mother. But that was crazy. They had only just met not even a month ago. Eddie then recalled something that Richie had told him when they had first met: he was also from Maine. 

At that point, a thought entered his mind, one that he could not wave away.

What if Richie somehow knew Eddie as a kid? 

Eddie may not have remembered a whole lot about his childhood, but he did remember how the whole town he grew up in knew his mom as the crazy widow with a severe complex when it came to her son. He didn’t remember having any friends, but he sure had enough bullies, and then some. He couldn’t recall the names of the people who constantly bullied him, or even what they looked like, so it wasn’t a complete stretch to consider Richie might have possibly been one of those kids. It would be just Eddie’s luck that one of his bullies would grow up to be this hotshot celebrity, and of course he’d get stuck having to drive him around. 

An even darker thought came to Eddie as he started to connect dots in his head, the yelling coming from Richie and Myra a dull noise in the background at this point. What if it wasn’t luck? What if Richie  _ was  _ one of those bullies, and had planned all of this from the very beginning? Eddie hadn’t exactly changed much, and his last name wasn’t common. Finding him wouldn’t be that hard, especially with social media nowadays. What if Richie had found him and decided to fuck around with him again, just to humilate him and make a fool out of him just like old times? All of those moments with Richie—that first night in his home, the FaceTime call, the moments of playful bantering—all of the times he held so dear, suddenly felt so tainted, so wrong, so ruined. 

“How fucking dare you,” Eddie whispered, but loud enough to catch the attention of both Richie and Myra.

“What?” Richie asked, brows furrowed. 

“Do you think I’m a fucking moron?” Eddie asked, voice dangerously low.

“E-Eddie?”

“Eddie-bear—”

“Myra, please,” Eddie shushed his wife. He looked back at Richie, who at this point was really confused at the increasing waves of anger he could practically feel radiating off of his driver. “Did you really fucking think I would never figure it out? That you would get to keep stringing me along?” 

“Eddie, what are you talking about—”

“DID YOU HONESTLY FUCKING THINK YOU COULD MAKE A FUCKING FOOL OUT OF ME?” Eddie stumbled over, the medication screwing with his coordination. “After all this time, you thought it would fucking hilarious to make me think you were so innocent, that you fucking cared about me, that maybe—just fucking maybe—you could actualy love me one day?” Had Eddie not been absolutely doped up on numerous drugs, he would have noticed how hard he was crying at this point. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m such a goddamn idiot.”

“Eddie, please! Listen to me, I do care! I fucking lo—”

“Get out,” Eddie hissed, interrupting Richie. 

“W-what??” Richie asked weakly, not knowing at all what got Eddie so worked up like this. He just needed to clear things up. “Eddie, I can explain—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!

“Eddie, I—”

“Oh my God, do you ever fucking  _ listen? _ LEAVE!” Eddie roared, a vein bulging in his forehead. 

Myra looked on smugly as Richie slowly backed away. His eyes shone wetly as he gave Eddie one last hurt, confused look before hanging his head as he retreated. Eddie stared at the spot where he stood, trembling as his chest rose and fell heavily. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the front door shutting as Richie left him alone with his wife.

“Oh, my poor Eddie-Bear,” she simpered, enveloping Eddie in her large arms and pulling him into her massive bosom. “You see how that vile man has you so worked up. All he could ever do is hurt you. I’m glad to see you’re finally starting to learn.” 

Eddie said nothing, accepting her embrace stiffly, grateful for the stuffy warmth that it provided. 

“We need to get you dressed, we can’t have you missing your appointment today!” 

Eddie blanched, recalling Myra’s plans for the day involving STD testing. 

“Myra, is this necessary—”

“Absolutely,” she snapped, pulling away from him sharply. Her hands were still wrapped around his arms, squeezing tightly. “How else are we supposed to make sure you’re still clean?”

“But we didn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Edward. We wouldn’t be in this situation if you had kept your promise to the Lord and remained faithful.”

Eddie remained silent, allowing Myra to steer him upstairs. So lost in the excitement over his budding romance with Richie, Eddie hadn’t even considered the possibility of catching something from his client. As Myra helped him get dressed, his mind was far away, lost in thought over a long time childhood fear that his mother had instilled in him. Sonia Kaspbrak had spared her son no detail, describing graphically what would happen to him if he caught AIDS, the terrible, lonely end that awaited anyone who chose to be a faggot. 

_ There’s no way, we just kissed,  _ Eddie told himself doubtfully—before his brain forcibly reminded him of their little tryst in the alleyway, of the way they had rubbed their bare cocks together, bodily fluids mixing as they came together in one Earth-shattering moment.  _ Fuck, would that be enough?  _

Eddie could count the number of sexual partners he’d had in his life on one hand. He had no idea if Richie could say the same, and as much as Eddie liked to think that he had the celebrity’s full attention, he had no way of knowing if Richie wasn’t secretly sleeping around with others. And at this point, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Richie had been hosting entire orgies without his knowledge. Myra was right, Eddie had meant nothing more to Richie than a cheap thrill. And now here he was, paying the consequences as his wife drove him to a clinic to be tested for STDs. 

Eddie blinked under the harsh, fluorescent light of the exam room. He sat in another flimsy gown, staring down at his feet while he waited for Dr. Barnes to return after taking his blood sample to the lab. The doctor had tried to strike up small talk, jokingly asking if his wife had found out about Eddie’s “mistress.” Eddie hadn’t answered, offering him a morose look instead that clearly said he didn’t want to talk about it, as the doctor shut right up after that. 

“Ok, Mr. Kaspbrak, you’re all set,” Dr. Barnes announced as he returned to the room. “Your results should be ready within a week. Uh, good luck with the missus.” 

Eddie nodded dismally, dressing himself in a daze after the doctor left him alone again. He ran his revelation over in his head, unable to believe that he had been so damn gullible to fall for Richie’s bullshit. He didn’t who he was more angry at: Richie, for finding him and targeting him like all those years ago, for leading him on and trying to completely ruin his life; or at himself, for being so easily lulled into this fantasy, for being such an easy mark. 

Myra waited for him in the lobby, and he could see that she was scrolling furiously through his phone. A heavy sense of indignation arose in Eddie, wanting to snatch the phone away from her. She had already found everything he’d been hiding, what else was she expecting? But he contained himself, clearing his throat to make his presence known. 

“Oh, Eddie-Bear that was so fast!” 

He followed her to the car, taking his place in the passenger seat. 

“How long until we find out if you’re still nice and pure?” Myra asked briskly as she started the car. 

“A week,” Eddie answered hollowly. 

“A whole week! Oh, my poor Eddie,” Myra gushed as she slowly made her way back towards their house. Her driving drove Eddie crazy, so passive and letting everyone cut in front of her. “That’s so long for you to be sleeping on your new bed.” 

“What do you…”

“You didn’t think I was going to let you back in our bed yet, did you? I can’t risk you tainting where we  _ sleep, _ you silly man.” 

Eddie could already feel his back begin to feel sore at the thought of what Myra had planned. 

\----

Jeremy wondered what exactly was going on in his bosses house while he patiently waited for Mr. Tozier in the car. The celebrity had seemed very upset when Mr. Kaspbrak hadn’t picked him up that morning, and Jeremy would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in learning the full story. It didn’t take long for Richie to emerge from the house, less than half an hour at the very most. He wore a deeply upset look on his face, and Jeremy swore he saw tears welling up in the man’s eyes. He hurried to exit the car and open the door for his new client, closing the door after Richie threw himself inside. 

Jeremy slid into the driver seat, nervously asking through the open divider: 

“Shall I take you to work now, sir?”

“Just take me home please,” Richie said quietly, and Jeremy could hear small cracks in his voice, as well as the tell-tale sound of soft sniffles coming from the man.

“Are you sure—”

“Let me deal with Steve. Just take me home.”

“But sir—”

“Either you’re taking me to my fucking house, or I’ll fucking walk there!” Richie coldly interrupted. 

Jeremy said nothing, but turned the car on in response. As Richie heard the engine rev on, he closed the divider in the vehicle, not wanting the driver to hear how pathetic he was.

The tears finally spilled over as Richie allowed himself to let go, shivers wracking through his body at the force of his tears. 

What went wrong? Why had Eddie snapped on him like that? Why didn’t he give him the chance to talk? He thought back at what he saw in the house, specifically the remains of crushed pills on the counter, and just how fucked up Eddie obviously was. Richie had done enough drugs in his life to know what that the man had doped near out of his mind—and the fact that he was still under the same roof as the woman feeding him that much medication made Richie want to vomit. 

_ (what did you expect to happen you taint everything you touch and now eddie is stuck with that fucking monster and you’re never going to see him again he hates you he hates you he hates you he hates) _

He tried not to take what Eddie said to heart—he was loopy as fuck, and who knew what specific pills that demon of a wife had force-fed him, or even what quantity. Even then, just hearing Eddie say those words—that he thought Richie was leading him on, that Richie didn’t care about him—felt like being stabbed multiple times, finding it nearly unbearable to hear Eddie so broken. He thought back to what he had almost confessed, how he almost told Eddie that he loved him, right in front of his crazy ass wife. Because he did, he loved Eddie. He had realized it in that moment, seeing Eddie there so torn up, wanting nothing more than to take him in his arms and take him away from whatever was causing him so much harm. Richie loved Eddie so much that it physically hurt him to know the man could possibly think otherwise. 

All Richie needed to do was explain to him how stupid he was, that he had thought he explained clearly what last night’s plan was, that it was supposed to make things easier for them to be together. Instead it looked like his idiotic mistake could have very well cost him the one person he felt understood him completely, the one person who could bring him so much joy with something so simple as a text message. The tears fell harder.

_ (this is what you get for being such a fucking pervert for fucking around with a married man you will never find love and you will die alone and afraid the way you’ve always been) _

He continued to cry silently in his hands the rest of the way home, his shoulders shaking from his sobs. 

“We’ve arrived, Mr. Tozier.” 

Richie looked up to the small intercom speaker above the divider. He hadn’t even noticed the car stopping. Clearing his throat, he pressed the small red button next to the intercom.

“I-I’ll be out in just a sec.” He winced at how hoarse his voice sounded, knowing that Jeremy probably already suspected he had been crying. 

Richie took a second to wipe away the moisture from his face with his t-shirt, taking a deep breath to try and regain at least some semblance of composure. He stepped out of the car with weak legs, tugging his wallet out of his pocket and tossing Jeremy a few random bills. 

“Mr. Tozier when should I—”

“Tomorrow. Or never. We’ll see,” Richie shrugged as he walked away. 

He heard Jeremy begin to stammer a nervous response, but it was lost on his ears as the lobby door closed behind him. There was one thought in his mind eclipsing all others: Richie was going to get fucked up beyond reason. 

_ (going right back to the bottle you’re so pathetic you’re so weak)  _

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Richie griped to himself, unlocking the door to his condo. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he shut the door behind him. The screen showed it was Steve, so Richie declined the call. It didn’t take long for his phone to start buzzing again, so he turned it off completely, putting it facedown on the coffee table. A fresh, nearly-full baggie of blow was there, calling out to him tantalizingly. Using his key to dig out a good-sized bump, Richie snorted it back smoothly. He took another, then another, and finally one more, until he could  _ really  _ feel that burn in the back of his throat. 

_ (if only eddie could see you now he would be so disgusted he’ll never want someone like you) _

Heart racing erratically, Richie made his way to the kitchen, digging through his liquor cabinet with trembling hands. He found a bottle of his favorite whiskey—miraculously almost full—and took a good chug straight from the bottle. It washed out the chemical trail left by the coke, filling his stomach with a pleasant warmth. He took another deep drink.  _ I’m feeling better already, _ Richie thought, more like he was trying to convince himself than anything. 

He stumbled back to the couch, tossing back the bottle until it was halfway empty. His head was feeling heavy as he poured out half of the contents of the bag of coke onto the table, clumsily cutting up some shaky lines. Using a tightly rolled dollar bill, he smoothly inhaled the first line, then the second. He was feeling a little uncomfortably warm now, and did the room always rock back and forth like that? Richie thought he could hear his phone buzzing again, and flipped it to find a blank screen, remembering that he had turned it off. 

There was a scratching noise on one of the windows—almost like a tree branch scratching against the glass—and Richie jerked his head to the side. His condo was on the top floor of a 65 story building, and there was not a single tree within spitting distance. But the scraping noise continued, and Richie thought his heart was going to punch out his eardrums with how hard it was pounding in his head. He approached the window, hand shaking violently as he reached out to pull up the shades that covered the ceiling-to-floor length glass panels. 

The noise stopped as soon as the shade was up, and all Richie could see was an absolutely breath-taking view of the city. He had grown used to the scene, and it had mostly lost its charm. Right now, however, he was looking down at the ground below him—it seemed so far, almost like another world. He felt a sudden urge to walk through the window, to hurtle towards the street below—he would be A-OK, though, because he wouldn’t fall, he would  _ float _ —

_ (go on richie jump you’ll be fine because we all float down here rich we all float and we all change and you’ll float too you’ll FLOAT TOO)  _

Richie hadn’t realized how he was pressing his body against the glass, the warmth of the sun heating him even further. It took him a moment to take a step back, craving another drink. He was back at the coffee table, hand grasping the neck of the bottle and bringing it to his lips. It was nearly empty now, the brown contents swirling around as Richie collapsed onto the couch. He made quick work of the rest of the whiskey, the bottle dropping heavily from his hand. He surveyed the small pile of coke on the table, considering taking another line. The warmth in his body weighed him down, gluing him to the couch. He was acutely aware of how hard his heart was still working in his chest, and he struggled to steady his breathing. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to focus on calming his raging heart, head rolling back into the cushions of the couch. 

When Richie opened his eyes, he was no longer in his condo. He was in a dark, musty room with low ceilings, a dirt floor covered in decaying leaves under his feet. The place was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite say when or how he had ever been there before. He somehow knew that he was in the cellar of an old, decrepit house. Before he could question how he had even come to be there, he was suddenly aware of this overwhelming feeling filling his entire being, a gnawing hunger like none he had ever felt before in his life, overtaking his mind and body, threatening to tear him apart if he didn’t find a way to satiate it. 

Richie sensed a presence, an energy making its way toward him. It came from a child riding his bike down the street just outside the very house in which he now sat. That hunger within him reared its head, sniffing the air hopefully. He willed the boy to park his bike and walk across the lawn, feeling a sick sort of thrill when the child did exactly that. Richie waited with twisted excitement as the boy crawled under the porch and even closer still, separated only by a grimy window pane. 

He watched as the boy played underneath some dirty blankets that lay underneath the porch sheltering the window to the cellar. He could still sense the child’s energy, shining bright with a sort of thrill. Richie was waiting for the right moment, ready to strike and fulfill that clawing hunger that was mounting with each passing moment. He compelled the boy to come even closer, until finally he saw the small face peer through the broken pane of glass of the window. 

Richie pushed his own face up through that window now, lips curling into a satisfied sort of snarl when the boy emitted a high pitched scream, eyes widening. His energy was absolutely glowing now, alight with pure, beautiful, glorious  _ fear.  _ And this was only the beginning. The child scrambled to crawl backwards on his behind, face twisted in pure horror as Richie slammed one hand through the other glass pane, pulling himself part way through the window.. 

_ “How about a blowjob, Eddie?”  _ Richie croaked, some part deep inside of him absolutely horrified and unable to stop the words that were leaving his mouth.  _ “Richie does it for a dime, he will do it anytime, fifteen cents for overtime.”  _ He winked.  _ “That’s me, Eddie _ — _ Rich the Trashmouth. And now that we’ve been properly introduced…”  _ A hand he could now see was nearly rotted off completely reached out and gripped Eddie’s right shoulder, drawing another thin scream. 

The energy radiating off of the boy was magnificent. Richie could smell it, tantalizing and absolutely mouth-watering. He could almost  _ taste  _ it. It drove him forward, fingers digging deeply into the child’s shoulders as he pulled himself out of the cellar. He could hear the child struggling, breath coming out in a high pitched whistle as he panted in pure dread. 

As he finished crawling out of the cellar, he saw Eddie’s eyes glaze over in terror.  _ “That’s all right,”  _ he croaked, his eyes never leaving the child’s.  _ “Here I come, Eddie, That’s all right.”  _ an unnerving grin stretched across his cracked and rotted lips, too wide. “ _ You’ll like it down here with us. The rest of our friends are down here.” _

Richie maintained that grip on Eddie’s shoulders, unable to wait any longer, desperate to just get a taste. He’d be drooling if he could; instead a sticky black sludge dripped sickeningly from his mouth. The child yanked away from him, almost falling back with the force it took to pull out of his grasp. Richie continued to try yanking himself out of the cellar as Eddie scurried away, almost lunging to the other side of the porch. He was mere moments from escape.  _ He must not get away,  _ the hunger roared. 

_ “It won’t do you any good to run, Eds,”  _ he taunted, gleefully observing how Eddie struggled to push through the boards, cobwebs and dust raining down onto his short brown hair. The glowing fear around him was mounting, and Richie was ravenous. 

Suddenly Eddie forcefully broke through the crosshatched fence encasing the porch with one last slam of his tiny body. 

_ NO NO NO HE CAN’T ESCAPE HE CAN’T ESCAPE HE CAN’T ESCAPE! _

He was almost out of the cellar now, torso leaning across the width of the underside of the porch. Shoving his decrepit hand through the rose bushes on the other side of the fence, he managed to get a hold of the boy’s ankle. He must have him, he couldn’t be allowed to leave,  _ HE NEEDS TO FLOAT WITH THE REST OF US.  _ .

The sound of Eddie’s horrified shriek fueled him to pull himself out completely, holding on to the boy as he desperately tried kicking him off. His attempts proved futile. Richie ripped himself out of the rose bushes, gleefully observing the boy as he cowered below. His fear was palpable in the air, so tantalizing and  _ delicious. _

Not wanting to wait any longer to finally taste that sweet, delectable fear, to hear the sweet sound of meat ripping from the bone, he jerked Eddie by the ankle and dragged him back into the house. He didn’t register the loud scraping sound as Eddie dug his nails into the floorboards of the porch, chipping them harshly, a thin line of blood from his wrecked nail beds leading into the abandoned home. The boy’s mouth opened wide, most likely screaming for help. It might as well have been white noise to Richie, only able to focus on satiating the dark hunger that consumed him, a hunger that only Eddie’s exquisite fear could quell.

Finally reaching the hallway, the door slammed shut—cutting Eddie off from any possible hope of escaping.  _ Finally. _

_ “Blowjob,”  _ Richie leaned over and whispered into Eddie’s ear, relishing in the tears and small whimpers Eddie let out.

He was cut off guard as Eddie slammed his knees into his torso; he felt no pain, but was surprised enough to release the grip he had on the boy. Richie caught himself before he completely collapsed into a pile of soggy bones, and giggled as he saw Eddie desperately trying to turn the obviously locked doorknob of the front door. He continued to scream and cry for help, even trying to pry the hinges off the door with his bare hands, blood dripping down his arms as he chipped away at his fingertips. Richie grinned at the sight of his prey being absolutely cornered, nowhere to go. 

_ “Blowjob,”  _ he repeated, taking sweet pleasure at the sight of Eddie growing more frantic as he tottered closer and closer.

He reached his hand out to graze the back of Eddie’s thin, pale neck, coaxing a loud shriek from the small child.

_ “CoMe FlOaT wItH uS”,  _ was all that left Richie as he unhinged his jaw and lunged forward, latching onto the boy’s forearm and ripping a large chunk of it off. 

Eddie wailed, his cries almost animal in nature. The fear was radiating off of him in waves now, thick and viscous and absolutely scrumptious. Richie devoured it, slurping it up and having his fill. The boy’s flesh was like the icing on top of a cake, not necessary but made the experience that much more delectable. Richie raced forward for more, devouring and tearing bits and pieces of the boy, thick hot blood dripping messily from his chin. After a while, his screams became silent, as Eddie let out a loud gurgle, blood pooling in his lungs, and dripping from his lips.

Finally having his fill, Richie slowly stood up, the mangled heaps of torn up flesh at his feet.

He proceeded down the hallway, only to stop as the sight of a mirror caught his eye. He turned his body to see a figure so grotesque and grimy reflecting back at him that he could barely recognize it as human, much less as himself. 

Dry and dirty skin cracking open, his forehead split apart so much that it revealed hard bone underneath coated in a sheet of yellow-tinted ooze. Blood stained teeth peered behind lips rotted practically to nothing; his cheeks were sunken in deeply, his skin pulled taut across the bones of his face. His face was like the inside of a rotting apple, his flesh looking like it was caving in on itself. He narrowed in on his eyes—or rather eye. One glowed a bright, almost alien blue, whereas his other socket contained nothing by a spongy green substance.

He looked down the hall, the smell of still fresh meat saturating the air, causing him to drool further. The hunger returned with a vengeance. 

_ No waste. Finish him.  _

He lunged at what remained of Eddie, devouring him whole. There was a quick rapping on the front door that he didn’t notice at first, too busy choking down the mangled remains of the child. 

_ Bang, bang, bang.  _

The knocking came again, louder this time. Richie’s head jerked towards the sound as he slurped down what was left, and he lurched towards the door. Soon enough he was directly in front of it, that hunger rising within him once more, never satiated. There was another person behind that door, more prey so willingly entering his domain, their energy burning with red-hot anger. It would be so easy to turn that fury into fear—fantastic, delicious fear.

_ Bang, bang, bang.  _

Richie’s rotted hand slowly crept towards the knob, ready to allow that poor soul to voluntarily wander into his clutches. The easiest hunt he’d ever made. That hunger roared deep within him, urging him on, gleefully anticipating all the ways that he would make this man  _ scream _ . 

_ Bang, bang, BANG! _

Richie jerked awake, eyes flying open at the hammering on his door. He was standing directly in front of it, hand reaching for the knob. Mouth open wide in a silent scream, his entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Richie, open the  _ fucking  _ door, you sorry sonofabitch!” Steve’s voice yelled from the other side, very loud and very angry. 

_ (show him richie show him how to float) _

“I know you’re there, Richie!” Steve banged on the door again, as if he was trying to knock it down with his fist. 

Richie blinked, still trying to fully wake up. The details of his dream were lost on him as he was slammed back into reality. The room seemed to tilt around him, and he realized how drunk he still was. He turned to see the coke still very present on his coffee table, along with the empty whiskey bottle lying near the couch.  _ Fuck, fuck, FUCK.  _

“We are NOT playing this game today! OPEN THE DOOR!” 

_ (he’ll float too)  _

Richie had no idea what that meant and he wasn’t trying to figure it out, either. His hand shook violently as it grasped the deadbolt, steeling himself as he unlocked the door. Barely jumping back in time to avoid the door that immediately swung open, Richie could barely look at his manager as he rushed inside without another word. He immediately walked to the center of the room, hunched directly in front of the coffee table, and Richie imagined he could see steam coming out of his ears.

Steve had fallen eerily silent, and even in his fucked up state Richie knew that whatever was about to come next wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“I thought we talked about this, Richie,” Steve muttered quietly, still not facing him. “I thought we had come to an understanding.” 

Richie watched as his manager took a seat on the couch, reaching out to grab the old card Richie had so often used, cutting himself a line.  _ Aw fuck,  _ Richie thought,  _ I’m in for it now.  _ Steve only did blow when he was pissed, and the only purpose it seemed to serve was to fan the flames of that anger so that it spread on everything around him, more often than not aimed at Richie. Steve snorted the line back rather smoothly for someone who claimed not to do the drug often. Nostrils flared, he turned his fiery gaze to his client. 

“Do you like your life, Rich?” he asked simply. Richie said nothing in response, not that Steve gave him much time before he continued, “Do you like buying cocaine? What about Johnnie Walker? I know the Blue Label is your favorite. It isn’t cheap.” 

His hands deftly began to form another generous line. 

“What about this condo? And all that weed you smoke. What about that  _ driver  _ of yours that you’ve got such a fucking soft spot for? You know how you’re able to have all of this  _ shit?” _

_ Snort.  _

_ “Money.  _ You need fucking  _ money,  _ Richie. And  _ how  _ do you get the money to afford all of this bullshit? All this crap that you claim you  _ need  _ to make it through your sorry fucking life? By going to fucking work.” 

Another line. 

“You know what happens when you don’t go to work?” 

_ Snort.  _

“You lose fucking money. And you know what happens when  _ you  _ lose money?”

“Wha-what—”

_“I_ lose money, asshole!” Steve snarled, and Richie saw a small drop of blood trickle out of his nostril. “You need to fucking get it together, Richie. You can’t just sit around here, moping around all day because—what, because you’re trying to get your dick wet in the ass of some fucking closeted, married guy?” Steve let out a manic bark of laughter. “Good fucking luck barking up _that_ tree. Even I wouldn’t stoop so low. Have some fucking standards.” 

The words were like an onslaught of blows to Richie, cutting him down until he felt like he was nothing but a hollowed out husk. He wanted to interrupt, to tell Steve to shut the fuck up, or to at least tell him that things were over with him and Eddie—but his mouth, usually so sharp, was dulled by the copious substance he had ingested and he was unable to get a word in at all as his manager continued to berate him. 

“Tell me what the fuck that guy could do for you that I couldn’t—that I haven’t! I’ve been with you since the beginning, and this is how you fucking repay me?” 

Another line.  _ Snort.  _

“H-hey—Steve, Maybe you sh-should slow—”

“I raised you from fucking nothing! Do you remember how you could barely land a goddamn gig? Huh? How I found you wasting your material on some fucking bar roaches and college kids who didn’t know how to wipe their own ass?” Steve sniffed, staring Richie down like a bug under a microscope. “You know what?” 

Standing abruptly, Richie became startled when Steve snatched the rest of the bag of coke, and stomped towards the kitchen.

“St-Steve? What are you doing??” Richie followed, a combination of nerves and all of the blow causing his hands to shake.

“Something I should have fucking done a long time ago, you’re done—with all of this.”

“Steve? W-wait—don’t!” 

And before Richie could react, Steve had already dumped the rest of the ziploc bag of cocaine down the drain of his sink, turning on the faucet for good measure. 

“Steve what the fuck?!? That was almost 2K worth of coke!!” Richie cried out.

“You should have fucking thought of that before wasting your fucking money!!” 

“You’re fucking insane, dude!”

“Oh,  _ I’M  _ INSANE? I’M NOT THE ONE FUCKING THEIR GODDAMN DRIVER—WHO HAS A WIFE—AND TRYING TO RUIN ALMOST 20 YEARS OF WORK!” Steve roared, snarling right into Richie’s face. His face contorted animalistically, eye’s flashing with unfiltered rage.

“I’m telling you—we  _ never  _ fucked, Steve!” Richie rubbed his face furiously with his hands, digging his palms into his eye sockets. 

“You fucking may as well have! Look at those hickeys on your fucking neck—not to mention those fucking pictures, Tozier! I’m not a fucking idiot! What would you do if the pap got their fucking hands on them? If Kasbrak wanted to make a quick buck and sold them himself? Why don’t you fucking see that this guy will be the end of you?!?” 

Steve grabbed onto the front of Richie’s shirt, yanking him so close that Richie could feel his hot breath on his face. 

“What do you want, huh?” Steve hissed into Richie’s still ringing ear. “A fucking twink to pump your cock in? I’ll get you a rentboy. Fuck, I’ll buy you a whole damn orgy if that’s what you want!” 

“Steve let me go—”

“IF YOU DON’T WANT ME DOING IT FOR YOU, THERE ARE SO MANY FUCKING MEN I COULD PAY OFF TO FUCK YOU, IF THAT’S WHAT IT’LL TAKE FOR YOU TO FORGET THIS ASSHOLE!”

“It isn’t like that!”

“THEN FUCKING TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT, RICHIE!”

( _ tell him richie tell him what you want ruin everything like you always do tell him how much you just want to die tell him how much you hate the life he’s given you tell him you’re just a worthless useless fucking fairy) _

_ “I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”  _ Richie didn’t really know who he was answering right then—the demonic voice, or Steve—but he just wanted both to shut the hell up and leave him to wallow in peace. “ _ JUST FUCKING LEAVE, STEVE! I’M DONE!” _

_ “ _ You’re done?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Steve just get out—”

“You’re  _ DONE?! _ ”

“Steve I—”

“You know what? Rot like the garbage you are, Richie Tozier. Go ahead and waste all your money on your shit and O.D. for all I fucking care.” 

Finally letting go of Richie’s shirt, Steve backed away, his eyes never leaving Richie’s hunched form. 

“Why should I care that I wasted years of my life on some fucking asshole who throws away his entire career for some ass?”

Richie’s throat felt like it dropped completely, watching his manager walk away from him. In the haze of his waning coke high, he didn’t notice his phone in Steve’s hand until the shorter man pulled it up for him to see, his movements almost in slow motion as he headed towards the door.

“Give me my fucking phone Steve!” Richie clumsily tried to intercept him.

“This is for your own fucking good, Rich. I’m sorry I had to do this, but you left me with no choice.”

Richie watched helplessly as Steve unlocked his phone, and did who knew what. It was a few moments before he finally chucked Richie’s phone back onto the couch. 

Crossing the room to grab his phone, he looked back to see Steve slam his door. He was finally alone. His condo was eerily quiet, minus the deep breaths coming from Richie as he attempted to get a hold of himself. Not even the oddly familiar comfort of the evil voice in his head kept him company. It took him a moment to get his bearings, still thoroughly shaken by Steve’s outburst. A shaking thumb unlocked his phone, heart sinking as the screen brightened to show him what his manager had done. The thread of texts between him and Eddie was open, and the first thing he noticed was that every single picture and incriminating message had been deleted. And then he saw the message that Steve had sent, typed as if Richie himself had sent it: 

_ This thing between us isn’t a good idea, it never was. We need to start being professionals. Once our contract is over, I don’t ever want to see you again.  _

Richie crumpled into the couch, tears immediately welling up in his eyes, hot and heavy. He was about to type a response with trembling hands, when he saw the read receipt change from  _ delivered  _ to  _ read.  _

_ “Fuck!” _ he hissed to himself, still trying to come up with some way to backtrack. His phone buzzed and it was like an electric shock, quivering fingers just barely managing to keep it from dropping onto the coffee table. 

_ Stop texting my husband!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

“Of fucking course.” 

Richie couldn’t say he was surprised that Myra had Eddie’s phone, after everything else he had seen. He could only hope that meant that Eddie wouldn’t see the message Steve had sent. Frustrated, he tossed his phone back on to the couch. Trying to steady his bottom lip, Richie wiped at the tears that were still threatening to spill down his cheeks. 

_ (look at you crying over this man you barely know you’re so fucking pathetic you’re so weak who could ever want someone like you you don’t deserve eddie you don’t even deserve steve because you are worthless you are less than worthless you are)  _

Richie sniffed miserably, eyes still very wet. Though Steve had dumped a good portion of his stash, there was a considerable amount of coke still swept across the glass top of the coffee table. Richie reached out, carefully scraping it all together into one pile. He dipped his finger in, rubbing the powder on the back of his gums, blankly registering the bitter taste and that familiar numbness. He was considering laying out another line for himself, when his phone went off again. 

Richie stared at it, afraid that it would be another message from Myra. Or worse, Steve. But then his phone was buzzing over and over again, and he realized that he was getting a call. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the screen over, and saw that he was getting a FaceTime from Stacey. Hastily wiping at his face with the back of his hand, Richie gave himself a few moments before swiping across to answer the call. 

“Yoo Trashmouth, what’s happening my friend—oh my God, you look like shit!” Stacey’s face peered at him, framed by a backdrop of a recording studio. Her jaw dropped in surprise and concern. “What’s going on dude??”

“Do you have time to talk? It’s a kind of a thing,” Richie responded with a heavy sigh. 

“Go for it.” 

“So, uh, I tried to talk to Eddie and tell him how I feel, you know—like how we talked about.” 

“Uh, huh?” Stacey urged him on.

“Well, I ended up having to go to his house because someone else came to pick me up this morning,” Richie continued. “And things, uh—well, they didn’t go too great…”

Richie considered telling Stacey the full story—Eddie’s obviously drugged state, Myra’s reaction to their affair, and finally Eddie’s outlandish accusation of Richie being his childhood bully—but even just the thought of repeating that all outloud was too hurtful and tiring for Richie to even bear. 

“Eddie was still pretty pissed. He yelled at me a bunch and ended up fucking kicking me out of his house,” Richie hastily concluded in a defeated tone. “And I guess I just kind of freaked out about it. You know—had a drink or ten. Hit the slopes.” He tapped one nostril with his finger. “I think I somehow fell asleep or something but then my manager came by and he just really fucking laid into me. He’s  _ pissed.  _ Like beyond pissed.” 

“Damn, Richie. That’s a lot for just a morning,” Stacey sympathized. 

“Tell me about it,” Richie grumbled, head falling back into the cushions of his couch. He thought to himself,  _ You don’t even know the half of it.  _

“So what are you going to do now?” 

Richie’s eyes wandered to the small pile of coke that was left on the table. He swallowed thickly, wanting nothing more than to just shove his face in and breathe as deep as he could, until he was completely numb and all of these terrible, bad feelings were just a thing of the past. 

“You know I think now would be a fantastic time to start my memoir,” Richie suggested, completely deadpan. 

“Or maybe you could come to work?” Stacey offered, more seriously. Richie made a face, and she went on. “Okay, just hear me out. What would be better for you right now, staying home and getting fucked up by yourself? Or focusing on something that you actually have some kind of control over?” 

Richie knew Stacey had a point, and it wasn’t like he hated his work, he actually enjoyed it! But at the moment it was like a ball and chain strapped to his ankle was keeping him trapped at home. His energy was absolutely sapped, and didn’t know how effective he would be at work in his current state.

“I don’t know….”

“You know you’re eventually going to have to come back, right? Better sooner than later—at least to get your manager off your ass,” Stacey pointed out. “Besides, it might be a good distraction.” 

“You’re not allowed to make sense, stop making sense, Stace!” Richie pouted, his lip jutting out. The childish face made Stacey laugh out loud. 

“Tell you what, if you come back to work, I’ll buy you whatever you want for lunch!” she offered, wagging her eyebrows up and down.

Ever-tempted at the sound of free food, Richie feigned a thoughtful look, purposefully making Stacey wait for his reply.

“You drive a hard bargain, m’lady,” Richie faked a hat tip, a heavy southern twang coloring his words. “Prepare for a full steak dinner lunch extravaganza!”

Stacey laughed, rolling her eyes at the man’s antics. “I guess, but you have to keep your word, weirdo! Tomorrow, you come right to work young man! Or I’m gonna need back surgery from how much I’m carrying this film.”

“You think I look young?” Richie giggled, batting his eyelashes ridiculously. “You’re too kind, flattery will get you everywhere.” 

“If flattery is all it takes to get you past this slump, I’ll call you the prettiest princess at the party,” Stacey schmoozed, hiding her laugh with her hand.

Richie barked a laugh, his shoulders shaking. He and Stacey spent a few more minutes talking, reminiscing their old Friday Night On-Air days, gushing over some girl Stacey had recently started seeing. For a few nice moments, the coke on the table was the furthest from Richie’s mind.

“Alright, Rich. Well I gotta get going, gotta get back to recording.” Stacey pointed behind her at the sound booth. “Remember your promise.” Stacey shook a jokingly stern finger towards the camera.

“Yes ma’am!” Richie saluted. “Just make sure to bring a full wallet for our lunch!”

As the screen went dark, Richie’s grin was wiped away—replaced by the solemn face from before—the mask he put up for Stacey finally slipping off. 

Taking a deep, grounding breath, he looked over at the coke on the table. Again he felt the urge to just shove his entire face in the small pile of white powder, and inhale with the power of a Kirby Vacuum. 

( _ just do it you know you want to you already disappoint everyone already whats one more person to that list you’re already a shithead to eddie to steve to your parents to your fans why would stacey be any different just do it do it do it do _ )

At that point he remembered the sticky note he wrote himself the night he forgot everything with Eddie. The sticky note that was still stuck innocently on his night stand. The note he wrote himself, pleading with himself to get sober. 

As he thought about it a bit more, and wondered just how badly Eddie’s face soured when he realized he had been high again and again each day. Maybe that’s why Eddie didn’t let him talk. Why trust anything a coked-out clown has to say? Richie wouldn’t trust himself either. 

At that moment, Richie made a decision. If it would get Eddie to listen to him, he would find the resolve to get sober. Rehab was probably not going to be an option, what with the numerous projects he had lined up, and the amount of bad press it would give them if all of this got to the reporters. Not to mention Steve would probably actually murder him if the press confirmed that his drug habit was still ongoing, especially considering one of his current big projects was a children’s cartoon.

With this resolve in mind, Richie—so very tempted to just snort everything that was left on the table—scooped the remaining cocaine up, shoveling it onto the worn out credit card. Without giving himself a chance to think it over, he carefully walked over to the trash can sitting in the kitchen, dumping the powder into it. He so desperately wanted to jump in his wastebin and undo the waste of perfectly good blow, but he also knew this was what it was going to take if he wanted to turn his life around. And if it meant a chance at getting Eddie to talk to him again, he would do anything. 

Richie’s sober streak lasted three days. 

More like two-and-three-quarters. Which was longer than he had expected, if he was being totally honest with himself. The first day hadn’t been so bad, and he was able to make it through by smoking copious amounts of pot and gorging himself on pizza and wings until he could barely move. He had slept hard that night, dreaming of a creepy old house that was somehow bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, full of dark, twisting passages—some cavernous, some claustrophobically small, all of them full of this wet, rotted smell, almost like a sewer. 

The second day was much worse. Richie had slept so deeply he nearly missed his alarm, jerking awake on the fifth automatic snooze. He rushed to get ready in time, afraid Steve would actually murder him if he missed another day of work. Richie was consumed with a lethargy that weighed down his limbs, every little motion in his daily routine taking a vast amount of effort to complete. By the time he was ready for the day, he felt like he had run a marathon, and was ready to climb right back into bed. 

_ (that’s right just stay home where you belong go back to sleep it would feel so much better than going out and faking another smile faking another laugh just stay home and disappoint everyone like you always do just sleep) _

Richie made it to work, however, and barely fifteen minutes late. The car ride had been silent, and the comedian wondered if it felt as heavy for his new driver, Jeremy, as it felt for him. He sat in the back staring a hole into the divider in front of him, feeling so wholly and terribly wrong. All Richie wanted was for Eddie to be there again, rolling his eyes at one of his bad jokes. He hated to think about Eddie stuck at home with that absolute monster. He tried not to consider the fact that he had played a big role in his old driver’s fate. 

_ (eddie is trapped with his terrible wife and it’s all your fault who knows what the fuck she is doing to him you saw those bruises you saw those pills she could kill him you should have called the cops but you were too scared about what she would tell them about you and eddie he could be dead for all you know and it would all be your fault you should just die it would be so much easier for you to just kill yourself instead of dealing with this it’ll be so easy just like going to sleep you know you want to you’re so tired all you want is to) _

“We’ve arrived, Mr. Tozier,” Jeremy said as the car pulled to a stop, his words cutting through that vile voice that seemed to be living quite comfortably in Richie’s head. 

The driver exited the car and opened the door for him. It took a few moments for Richie to be able to muster the energy to get himself out of the car, but eventually staggered out and towards the building. Steve waited for him just inside, fixing him with a harsh glare. 

“You’re late,” was all he said. 

“Sorry,” Richie offered weakly. 

“Phone.” Steve held his hand out as he briskly walked towards the elevator. 

Richie sighed, chest rising and falling deeply as he took long, measured strides to keep up with him. 

“Do we really have to do this—”

_ “Phone.”  _

Making a point to roll his eyes deeply, Richie fished his phone out of his pocket and thrust it into Steve’s waiting hand. He watched with a clenched jaw as Steve opened it, scrolling furiously through his messages and saved photos while they waited for the elevator. After several maddening moments, his manager finally relinquished the device, seemingly satisfied. The elevator arrived then, and they entered. Steve looked him up and down with quick, suspicious eyes. 

“Are you hungover?” he asked in a harsh, accusing tone. 

_ “No,” _ Richie huffed. “Sober, actually.” 

“Sure, Rich.” Steve’s voice was heavy with sarcasm and disbelief. 

Richie glared at him, head pounding, and was suddenly filled with the urge to  _ hurt  _ his manager, to make him  _ scream _ , to fill him with pure, glorious, delicious  _ fear _ —

_ (that’s alright he’ll float too richie we all float down here) _

“Are you just gonna stand there all day? ‘Cause you have a  _ lot  _ of work to catch up on,” Steve’s voice pierced through these disturbing thoughts, and they were gone from Richie’s mind as soon as they came. 

Richie had barely made it through that work day. Even Stacey, so glad to see him and providing a much needed source of positive energy, was barely able to lift his spirits as they rehearsed lines and eventually had lunch. Ever intuitive, she didn’t press him during their conversations, sensing his low energy and doing most of the talking. He was grateful for this, clinging desperately to her words for some sort of distraction from his vicious inner monologue. 

The sun had long set by the time Richie had made it home. The day had been grueling and unforgiving, filled with a game of catch-up that had his head spinning. That coupled with the overwhelming sluggishness that had overtaken his body, and Richie was just about ready to fall apart at the seams. He had fallen right asleep, no dinner, fully-clothed, landing face first on his bed. 

The third day he broke. 

Richie did not remember his dream, but it had to be another bad one, because he woke up screaming and absolutely drenched in sweat. Heart racing, he rushed through a shower, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his stomach from skipping dinner the night before. He managed to make it work on time, running on nothing but a chocolate donut and an iced coffee. The lethargy had made a comeback, but Richie pushed through it even though he felt like he might drop dead at any given moment. 

It was around his rather late lunch time that he got his first really strong craving for coke. He had just struggled through a very long morning, unable to keep his focus straight for more than a few moments at a time. His thoughts kept turning to Eddie, wondering what he was doing, hoping he was okay, trying to devise a way to see him, just to get the chance to explain things properly, if he could just explain, all he needed was a few minutes alone, and then he could clear things up and then things could go back to normal, all he needed was to  _ explain _ —

His director had to pull him back to reality more times than he could count, frustration visibility mounting each time he had to call Richie’s attention back into the rehearsal. Richie knew that Steve was staring daggers at him, and he just wanted to melt into the floor, drip away into drains, and down in the sewer where he belonged. 

_ (yes richie the sewers come join us you’ll float too) _

Yup. Coke sounded fucking fantastic. And before he could stop himself, his phone was in his hand, fingers quickly texting his dealer to let him know he’d be needing a delivery after work. After getting confirmation he deleted the thread, in case Steve decided to look through his phone again. 

With the promise of sweet relief of the horizon, Richie made it through the rest of his long work day. It had been ages since he had pulled a 14-hour work day, and he was beyond fried. It didn’t take long for him to link up with his dealer, snagging an ounce of weed and a modest eightball of coke. He didn’t want to get too much, just enough to get him through the rest of the week. Then he’d take a real break. 

_ (right back at it to no one’s surprise who are you kidding you’re never going to stop because you are weak you are pathetic and this is all you deserve) _

“Whatever.” 

He dug a key into the little bag, snorting the bump back smoothly. He almost cried at the comfort that the burn brought him as it trailed up his nostril and down the back of his throat. Another bump. And then a couple more for good measure. 

And then beautiful numbness. 

  
Richie got the phone call four days later. He was at the studio, in the middle of recording lines for the animated feature he was working on. It was an unknown number, his phone screen displaying that it was coming in from Derry, Maine. His heart immediately began to race, palms sweating, and at first he thought it was just a side effect of the withdrawal. But as he stared down at that number, he was filled with an indescribable sense of dread. After calling for a break, he swiped across his phone screen with a shaking thumb. 

“Uh, hello?” he asked uncertainly.

“Richie Tozier?” a deep, warm voice ventured, very hesitant. 

“The one and only, how can I help you?” 

“This is Mike, Mike Hanlon,” the voice continued. “We went to school together. Do you remember me?” 

“Mike...Mike Hanlon!” It took a moment, but the name brought back such a quick rush of memory that it made Richie dizzy. It was a confusing mix: the crisp sound of a card clicking through the spokes of a bike wheel, the smell of cigarette smoke, the aching in his lungs as he ran through lush, green trees, and above all: the sinking feeling as he and a group of friends approached a horribly familiar old house. “Of course, Mike! How are you, it’s been so long—”

“How much do you remember, Rich?” Mike asked him quickly, clearly not interested in small talk. 

“Very little.” Richie paused, suddenly hit with the ghost of an overwhelming smell, a smell he recognized from his dreams, damp and dark and full of wet and rot and shit. The smell of the sewer. “Enough, I suppose.”

“I need you to come home, Rich. To Derry, Maine. We made a promise.”

Richie felt a sudden, searing pain in his left hand. He glanced down, seeing no visible injury, but noticing for the first time a long, shiny scar stretching across his palm. How long had that been there? He had never noticed it before, but it was there alright, as if it had been there his whole life.

There was another thing itching in the back of Richie’s mind, something that felt monumental. He felt like he was still missing something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was vaguely aware of Mike’s voice as it continued.

“I already spoke with Bill, Beverly and Ben. I still need to call Stan. I wasn’t able to talk directly to Eddie but I hope his wife passed along the message. It’s important for all of us to be here or...”

Richie’s stomach dropped at the name, the rest of Mike’s sentence being lost on his ears.  _ There’s no way, it has to be a coincidence,  _ he told himself, although he knew that it wasn’t. He was hit with another dizzying onslaught of memories: a boy in red gym shorts and tube socks; a boy who with quick, dark eyes that flashed when he was mad, or happy, or when he laughed; a boy with soft brown hair and asthma, who wore two fanny packs—one for his inhaler and one for his backup inhaler; a boy who had completely captured his heart when he was just twelve years old; a boy who had grown into a man that had once again had him utterly and overwhelmingly enamored, a man who was able to hold his attention with such little effort, a man who Richie Tozier was now realizing he had been in love with his entire life. 

“Wait a minute, Eddie? As in Eddie Kaspbrak?” he almost yelled, and Steve’s head jerked in his direction. 

“Yes,” Mike sounded surprised. “Do you remember him? Have you spoken to him?” 

“Uh, yeah, he’s my driver,” Richie said quickly, lowering his voice. “What did his wife say?” 

“Well that’s the weird thing,” Mike mused. “She told me to give her the message, and then hung up right after. Why, do you know anything about that?”

Richie stayed silent for a moment, knowing very well that Eddie would never get that message if Myra Kaspbrak had anything to say about it. She would rather keep Eddie locked up in her tower, hidden away from the rest of the world.

“Rich, you still there?” Mike asked with concern. 

“I’ll make sure he’s there,” he said with determination. “When do you want us in Derry?”

He tried to focus as his childhood friend shared all of the details, but he was distracted. Richie knew that he had his work cut out for him, and that getting Eddie out of that house was going to be a lot easier said than done.

\---

After a long day of dealing with driving around an overly narcissistic Broadway actor, Eddie was just ready to shed his jacket and pass out on the couch. Finally pulling into the driveway, Eddie heaved a big sigh as he trudged into his home, immediately kicking his shoes off and loosening his tie.

“Honey! I’m home!” he called out.

“UhhHHHhhh! Don’t come into the kitchen!!” a shaky voice called from around the corner. 

It was at that point that Eddie noticed the smokey air in the living room, and a burning smell coming from the kitchen. Immediately he put down his jacket and sped to the source.

“Is everything okay—” Eddie was met with a scene that almost caused him to double over in laughter. 

Richie stood in the middle of the kitchen, covered in flour, holding a tray of something black and unrecognizable—that from the looks of the open oven—had been left in there a bit too long. The counters were covered in sticky dough and freshly cracked eggs. Eddie tried to keep his giggles in, but the look of a pouting Richie, his glasses fogged up and his hair looking like a bird’s nest was enough to cause him to fail at that attempt.

“You weren’t supposed to come home for another hooooour,” Richie whined.

“My client had a short rehearsal today—what the fuck happened to you?”

“Well I  _ was  _ making a Beef Wellington, I figured I’ve seen enough Lucifer’s Cafeteria episodes that I thought it would be easy….”

“Oh god, Rich,” Eddie giggled.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Richie pouted. “I just wanted to make a nice, romantic dinner. I knew you were having a rough week, but I guess I kinda made a brick sized charcoal for the fireplace…”

Eddie let out another laugh, clutching his midsection from the force. His fatigue now long forgotten as he took in the image of his fiance very much disheveled and looking quite silly in the “Forget the Cook, Kiss the Trashmouth” apron he had gotten him as a joke for his birthday two years ago.

“You look like shit,” Eddie cackled.

“Love you too, Spaghedward.” 

Eddie made his way to Richie, shoulders still shaking from the little chuckles that escaped from him. He wiped away a streak of flour from Richie’s cheek, and removed the man’s glasses.

“I appreciate the attempt, Rich, but maybe leave the fine dining to Gordon Ramsey.” Eddie leaned forward, pecking Richie softly on his cheek.

“But I wanted to be sexy and romantic!” Richie cried dramatically. “You’re always spending your time around beautiful and fit men, my dad bod only has jokes and devilish good looks to work with.” 

“Oh, I don’t know—you have other things going for you.” Eddie muttered, his eyed dark and half lidded, running his hand through Richie’s floury hair. 

Richie put the tray on the stove top, and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, bringing him closer.

“Richie no! You’re fucking dirty!” Eddie whined, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth betraying his words.

“Oh, I know something else that can get dirty.” Richie waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” 

Eddie giggled as Richie playfully bit the skin of his neck, his stubble tickling him deliciously, causing his toes to curl. The taller man chuckled, proceeding to continue to pepper Eddie’s neck with kisses and playful nips.

“As much as I would love for you to fuck me in the remains of an obvious food battle you had, I’d rather not leave the kitchen a mess,” Eddie muttered in Richie’s ear. 

Grabbing his glasses back from Eddie, Richie looked around the kitchen. It really did look like an explosion of flour, eggshells, and olive oil all over the counters and even the floor. 

“I don’t know, I think that would be hot.” Richie gave him his signature shit eating grin.

“You are absolutely  _ not  _ fucking me in flour and fucking puff pastry,” Eddie insisted.

“Party pooper.” 

They spent a good amount of time cleaning up the kitchen, Eddie flabbergasted at how Richie managed to get puff pastry on the ceiling. All Richie could do was shrug, before doubling over in cackles when the dough fell down off the ceiling and landed squarely on Eddie’s face.

The last thing Eddie had to finish were the dishes. As he rinsed and dried off the last pot, Richie walked over behind him, wrapping his arms around the man and bringing him close. 

“Sorry you had to clean. I knew you’ve been really tired lately, so I thought making a nice dinner would make you feel better,” Richie murmured, tightening his hold on Eddie.

Eddie sighed, bringing a hand to stroke Richie’s thick curly mane, and leaning back to bask in the taller man’s warmth. He wanted it to always be this way, just him and Richie, together and happy. 

Except it wasn’t real. 

None of it was real. 

Eddie wasn’t in some chic, modern kitchen with a devoted fiance who made him feel like the best version of himself he could possibly be. He was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of his modest kitchen with nothing but a measly toothbrush and some floor cleaner, while his wife surveyed him from the doorway with a smug grin. 

“Don’t forget to get between the tiles,” Myra smirked. 

“Yes, dear,” Eddie replied in a small voice, neck aching from how long he had been hunched over the floor.

It had been a long week for Eddie Kasprbak. Myra, seemingly hellbent on exacting some sort of vengeance for his infidelity, had put him through a long series of private humiliations. He had not only been made to sleep in the dog bed, she had taken to serving his meager meals out of a silver dog bowl, along with only allowing him to use the restroom during scheduled breaks, and a long, unrelenting list of tedious chores to complete around the house. 

And then there was the matter of the medications. 

At first Eddie thought it was a mistake, perhaps Myra had miscounted a few of his dosages, causing his various prescriptions to hit him like a freight train. The trend continued, however, and he found that in the immediate hours following his medication times, Eddie could do little but curl up pathetically on the cushion at the foot of the bed in a hazy, near-catatonic state, while Myra gleefully watched over him from above. 

“Oh, my poor Eddie-bear,” she would croon with a mocking pout. “We’re going to have you feeling better in no time. You have a  _ very delicate system, _ dear, and I’m the only one who knows how to take care of you. I’m the only one who’s ever going to love you the way you need. You  _ need  _ me, Eddie-bear, you would have  _ nothing _ without me.” 

Eddie would have no choice but to listen as she went on like this, clouded brain more than willing to believe her cruel words, accepting the fate that life had dealt him. Myra was right. She was the only one he would ever have. He could daydream about what life with Richie could be like all he wanted, but that’s all that it would ever be: wishful thinking. Eddie wasn’t some damsel in distress, and Richie wasn’t the prince who was going to come save him from the fire-breathing dragon that was his wife. He had made a vow, and he was stuck with her. 

He fantasized about leaving her every day. Eddie thought about how he would do it, how he would tell Myra that he didn’t love her—he never really did—and would pack his bags and fly off into the night. And he  _ would  _ do it, too, but there was something holding him back. This all-consuming fear that if he left Myra, he  _ would _ have nobody. He  _ would _ be absolutely alone. His mother was long gone, not that he missed her much. Richie was out of the question at this point; Eddie should have known it was all too good to be true from the start. How could someone like Richie—a lauded comedian and actor known for being a playboy—have any real, lasting attraction to someone like Eddie—a sickly chauffeur with anger issues? It just didn’t make sense, and he had been a complete fool to think otherwise. And as much as he wanted to leave his abusive spouse, the all-consuming fear of being left alone far outweighed the fear he had for his wife. 

“That’s enough,” Myra said sharply, and Eddie held in his sigh of relief as he finally stopped scrubbing the floor. He straightened up, groaning when he back popped loudly. “Looks like we have some wonderful news, my dear husband. Your doctor called with your results yesterday.” 

Eddie perked up. Ever since Myra had insinuated that Richie may have passed along some sort of STD to him, Eddie had been riddled with anxiety. Myra’s words had echoed his mother’s, who had instilled the fear of catching AIDS in him as a small child.  _ Faggots are sinners, and God sent this disease to punish those faggots for their lecherous deeds,  _ his mother had hissed at him, forcing him to watch every news special, not sparing any graphic detail.  _ Once you get AIDS that’s it, there’s no going back. You die all alone in a hospital, and then your body gets thrown into a mass grave. No funeral. Is that the end you want for yourself? _

No, Eddie sure did not. 

“What did they say?” he pressed, looking up at his wife from his place on the ground.

“They said that you’re all clean!” Myra sang with a wide grin. “Oh, you know what this means!” 

“That I get to sleep in our bed tonight?” Eddie dared to ask hopefully. 

“Oh, don’t make me laugh!” Despite her scoffing, Myra actually did laugh. “Oh, Eddie, I don’t think you’ve quite learned your lesson yet. But maybe we can  _ speed  _ that process up tomorrow. I’ve got something extra special planned, a little afternoon delight—with a little  _ encouragement,  _ I think you’ll perform just fine. And then maybe I’ll start thinking about letting you back in bed.”

Just then, Eddie’s phone rang from Myra’s pocket before he could quite digest her words and what they meant for him. He watched her dig it out, feeling anger and indignation rise within. He could see it was an unsaved number, and she gave him an accusing stare as she answered the call. 

“Hello??” she asked. “Who is this?” 

There was a pause as she listened to the caller’s response. 

“This is his wife,” Myra responded coldly after a moment. 

Another pause. 

“Mike Hanlon? My husband has never mentioned a Mike Hanlon or a Derry before! Hmmm, okay. I’ll give him the message.” She hung up the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Now, what were we saying?” 

“Who was that?” Eddie couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“No one important,” Myra sniffed. 

“What was the message?” He knew he needed to shut up, but something about the name Mike and the word Derry caused him to seize up, his palms sweating profusely, and the soft jingle of what sounded like children’s laughter began to play in the back of his head. 

“Quit asking questions, I told you it wasn’t important!” Myra barked, looking over Eddie’s still kneeling form on the kitchen floor. 

“Yes dear, I’m sorry.” Eddie couldn’t help but avert his eyes, his head bowing down. 

“That’s alright dear. You don’t have to worry about anything.” Myra brought a hand to Eddie’s face, sharply pinching Eddie’s cheek painfully and giving his head a slight shake. “Now, finish the rest of the kitchen while I go clip some coupons. The market’s having a sale on artichokes that I simply cannot miss out on!” 

Leaning down to plant a slobbery smooch on Eddie’s cheek, she then sauntered to the living room, and planted herself in front of the TV.

The name Mike Hanlon bounced around in Eddie’s head like a red bouncy ball he vaguely remembered owning as a kid. He felt like he should know that name, like an acquaintance you definitely met, but just can’t pin from where you knew them. 

Mike. Derry.

Mike. Derry. 

_ MIKE! MIKE HANLON! _

_ THE LOSERS! _

Suddenly visions of a shallow creek filled his head, the sound of splashing water, the foul stench of a sewer, the silhouette of six others riding bikes alongside him. He could see their figures, but he still couldn’t remember their faces—why couldn’t he remember their faces?

His head began to pound, as more information and more visions filled his head. The Barrens, the Kissing Bridge, a rock war, the sneer of a kid a few years older than him with a dirty blonde mane styled in a mullet—what was his name?

In the corners of his mind, he knew he wasn’t remembering something, something huge, something so monumental that it would change everything forever.

And slowly, the faces of the six figures began to clear. Mike’s face was the first to come back, followed by another figure he recognized as female. Bailey—no— Be-Bella? Not that—Bev... _ BEVERLY! _

And it was as if the flood gates opened, and all the faces had come back to him. Bill, Stan, Ben, Richie…..

_ RICHIE! _

As if it were yesterday, Eddie instantly could recall the comedian as a child, and how they grew up practically glued at the hip. Memories of reading comics on a hammock, sharing an ice cream cone, listening to Richie’s vast collection of Buddy Holly records until they both passed out on his bed. How the fuck could he forget his best friend? How did he go all these years forgetting  _ everything  _ about  _ everyone? _

Eddie thought back to Richie, and a hollow pit formed in his stomach when he realized how so fucking off the mark he had been. 

_ What have I done? _

Tears welled up in his eyes, remembering the completely shattered expression Richie had worn as he was kicked out. Eddie knew he fucked up, and he fucked up royally.

He was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of Myra loudly laughing at something, probably at something on TV. He turned his head towards the sound.  _ I need to get the fuck out of this house,  _ he thought to himself,  _ I need to see Richie.  _

The soft sound of knocking from the front door brought him out his thoughts of escape. It seemed Myra was too distracted by the television to notice, so as quietly as he could, he made his way to the door. Looking through the peephole, he was confused to see a UPS truck driving away. As slowly as he could—not wanting to alert Myra—Eddie opened the door, spotting a package on his doorstep. His stomach dropped at the strange box; was this the “ _ surprise”  _ Myra was planning?

Making his way into his office, the box under his arm, Eddie locked the door behind him. He hoped to everything Myra would stay in the living room and not notice he was gone. 

He carefully pried open the box to reveal a small white bottle, his eyes widening at what was printed on them. _WHY THE FUCK DID MYRA ORDER VIAGRA?_ Was this it? Was his wife really so desperate, so twisted that she would resort to force to get him to fuck her? Eddie didn’t want to think about the answer to those questions. He really needed to leave. Tonight. But how was he going to escape without her noticing he was gone? The last thing he wanted was for her to chase him; he had no doubt she would easily find him and drag him back home, and he would _really_ be in for it then. 

Eddie carefully closed the box—being sure to delicately fit the tape back in place to make it seem like it hadn’t been opened—heart pounding frantically as he considered all that it meant. Myra had purchased the pills without his knowledge—and with the way she had been crushing up all of his medication and mixing it into his food, he wouldn’t put it past her to do the same with the Viagra. And then he would be really helpless then, completely at her sick mercy. The very thought made him want to vomit, and he almost did. 

Opening one of his desk drawers, he desperately searched for a small tube of Dramamine he had thrown in there months before, hoping to quell the sudden churning in his stomach. His hand brushed a little white bottle, and he stopped his hunt to examine it. As he stared down at the Ambien bottle in his hand, an idea began to form in his mind. 

It was time for Myra to get a taste of her own medicine. Literally. 

He opened the bottle quickly, emptying its contents into his open palm and then stashing them in his pocket. He hurried downstairs, leaving the package on a narrow wall table near the door. Myra was still settled in front of the TV, and Eddie counted his blessings when he heard her emitting soft snores. Working with haste, not knowing how long his wife would continue to lightly doze, he grabbed the two spoons that she had used earlier that day to grind his medication to a fine powder before mixing it with his otherwise plain oatmeal. 

Eddie opened the refrigerator as quietly and quickly as possible, withdrawing the bottle of Irish coffee creamer that was reserved specifically for Myra’s use. He sat it on the counter and unscrewed the lid before emptying his pocket full of Ambien. Eddie set to work, diligently crushing the pills between the two spoons and pouring the resulting powder into the bottle of creamer until he had nothing left. Replacing the top, he gave the bottle a few rough shakes for good measure, before placing it right back where he found it. 

Now all he had to do was wait for Myra to have her next cup of coffee—seeing how his wife was very much a creature of habit, that should be coming up right after dinner.

All Eddie had to do now was wait and plan his escape. 

He tiptoed out of the kitchen, ghosting up the stairs and into their bedroom. Heart hammering, he flung open the doors of the walk-in closet, rummaging through the shelves until he found a duffel bag. He grabbed a few shirts at random, shoving them into the bag without a second thought before exiting the closet and making a beeline for his drawers. After packing a good amount of socks and underwear and a few pairs of pants, Eddie noticed the shirt that Richie had let him borrow sitting at the bottom of one of the drawers. He stared at its ridiculous logo for a moment, before tossing that in the bag as well, finally zipping it shut. He didn’t dare pack any toiletries for fear that Myra would notice them missing. He shoved the bag into his laundry hamper, piling dirty clothes on top of it. 

Like clockwork, Myra’s voice called out from downstairs: 

“Oh, Eddie-bear! I need you!” 

Heart sinking, Eddie trudged down the stairs as slowly as he dared. Myra was in the kitchen, and as he entered the room his eyes were immediately drawn to the large box of dog biscuits sitting on the counter. 

“You’ve been  _ such _ a good boy, lately,” Myra purred. “So I thought you deserved a little  _ treat.”  _

She picked up the box and gave it a sickening little shake. 

“And don’t worry, these are all organic and gluten-free. Nothing but the best for my Eddie-bear.” 

Myra used her free hand to snap her fingers, pointing to an empty corner of the kitchen. 

“Corner, now,” she commanded. 

“Yes, dear,” Eddie surrendered, shuffling to where she had directed. 

“Kneel down.”

Eddie kneeled. 

“Chin up.” 

Eddie tilted his head up to look at his wife, gritting his teeth to keep his bottom lip from trembling. Myra dug her hand into the box, placing one of the biscuits on the top of his forehead. 

“Now keep that there while I cook our lovely supper,” Myra instructed, “and then you can have your treat.”

She left him there without another word, busying herself with preparing their dinner. Eddie knelt there stiffly, reminding himself that his minutes with Myra were numbered. 

As Eddie’s knees began to ache where they came in contact with the hard tile, he forced himself to focus on his plan. Once Myra had her coffee, it was only a matter of time before she was out like a light. Eddie would only have so long to get as far away from her as possible, but not before he got his phone back from her. His phone had too much information on it, like Richie’s work and home address. Eddie briefly considered driving himself, but he knew that his entire fleet—even his personal car—had GPS trackers installed for security reasons. He knew Myra would be relentless once she awoke and understood what had happened, and he didn’t want to leave even a hint of how to find him. Fine, he would just take a taxi instead, fuck it—he’d even take an Uber if it meant he could finally escape this hell. 

He’d do anything if it meant that he’d be able to see Richie again. 

_ Richie.  _

Eddie was overwhelmed by so many thoughts and questions, it was making him dizzy.  _ Why  _ had he not immediately realized who Richie was when that day their contract started? And how had he managed to forget not only Richie, but all of his friends—his entire damn childhood? Eddie had always just assumed that no one really remembered much before college, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how strange and fucked up it all was. 

Eddie’s neck began to ache from the angle he was holding it at to keep the biscuit from slipping. He told himself it was just another trial, another test he’d have to pass just to get the chance to get away from the monster he had married, to find Richie and figure out what the hell was going on. And to call Mike back. 

_ Fuck.  _

Eddie had almost forgotten about Mike. He needed to call him back. He needed answers. 

His head tilted downward for a moment, the biscuit nearly sliding right off of forehead that was now coated with a thin sheen of sweat. He snapped his head back up, suddenly pulled back into reality. Eddie suddenly felt every ache and pain shooting through his body as he struggled to hold his position, afraid of what his wife might do if that biscuit dropped. Myra hummed as she continued with the food, and Eddie silently pleaded to himself,  _ Just hold on, do it for Richie.  _ He repeated this to himself over and over like a mantra, a reticent prayer to get him through this final round of torment at the hands of his wife. 

Finally—after what felt like hours—Myra plated their food, signalling the imminent end of his torture. She approached him with a prim grin. 

“Oh, I just knew you could do it!” she gushed. “Go ahead, have your treat.” 

Eddie struggled to hold her piercing gaze as he slowly reached for the dog biscuit with a shaking hand. He stuffed it into his mouth, trying not to register the awful taste that was assaulting his tongue as he struggled to chew through the crunchy dog treat. After a few painful minutes of chewing, Eddie managed to choke it down. Myra playfully slapped the side of his face. 

“What a  _ good boy,”  _ she praised him. She placed the silver bowl that she had been feeding him out of over the past week on the floor before him. “Enjoy your dinner, dear.” 

With that she left him alone in the kitchen, taking her plate back to the living room to eat in front of the TV. Eddie stared down at the food before him, warily eyeing the mashed potatoes that were mixed in with bits of chicken and corn. He was almost sure that she had slipped some drugs into the paste, and he needed to keep his wits about him. 

Peeking through the doorway of the kitchen to make sure Myra was nice and distracted by her show, Eddie dashed across the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel. He quickly scooped out the food in the bowl, balling it up in the napkin. He shoved it deep in the trash can, trying to ignore how absolutely disgusting it was for him to have his bare hand surrounded by all of that garbage. 

He balled up some more paper towels and shoved them on top of everything, completely hiding everything. He might have gone overboard, but he didn’t dare risk having Myra learn that her plans to drug him failed. Who knew, she might force feed the pills whole to him at that point.

“Eddie-bear? Did you finish all of your food?” Myra walked into the kitchen, looking down at Eddie still hunched in the corner, pretending he was eating the last of his drugged dinner.

“I did.”

“Good boy! Did you like it?” Myra asked expectantly.

“Yes ma’am.” Eddie was just waiting for Myra to pour her routine cup of coffee after work. His eyes followed her like a hawk.

He held himself back from practically vibrating with excitement as he saw Myra pull out the drugged bottle of creamer from the fridge, and pouring herself a decently sized cup of coffee.

“Eddie.”

_ Fuck. _

“Yes, dear?” Eddie looked up at Myra’s unreadable expression. 

“You know I do this because I love you, right?” Myra smiled down at him, her would-be adoring gaze tainted by Eddie knowing her true intentions. “You need to understand that I know what’s best for you. _ I’m _ the only one who knows how to make you happy.”

Eddie shivered in slight disgust as Myra ran her stubby manicured hand through his hair, raking her nails across his scalp. He noticed again how she seemed to revel in his visceral reaction to her touch, giving a self-satisfied smirk before taking a large gulp of her coffee. 

“Come sit with me on the couch, Eddie-bear. I think you’ve been a good boy tonight,” Myra called back as she strode back into the living room, back to her usual spot on the couch.

Seeing her take large gulps of the Ambien spiked caffeine, Eddie cautiously sat far away from her on the couch, leaning down on the other end. 

He peeked at his wife with his peripheral vision every so often, taking note at the tired expression that gradually grew on her face. Her yawns became more frequent, as her eyelids drooped.

“Oh dear, I must have grabbed the decaf on accident,” Myra yawned loudly. 

Eddie said nothing as his excitement grew and grew as his wife slowly started to drift off, the white noise of a random crime drama in the background lulling her deeper and deeper.

“It is getting late, dear,” Eddie lied, eyes peeking at the analog clock on the wall clearly displaying 6:47 PM. “Maybe you should turn in.”

“No no, I wanna finish this ep...isode…..” And without another word, Myra’s head flopped to one side as sleep finally overcame her.

Eddie inwardly cheered, fighting off the urge to quickly run to the door. He didn’t actually expect this plan to work! But he still had work to do. And he knew he had to move quickly. And the first thing he needed was his cellphone. 

He—oh so gently—pulled his cellphone from Myra’s breast pocket, making no sudden movements as to not jostle her. Once he successfully retrieved it, he immediately went upstairs to their bedroom and grabbed the duffle bag of clothes. He quickly went through his phone, seeing that everything regarding Richie had been deleted, right down to their call history and even his entire contact listing. All that was in the history was a call from earlier from an unknown number.  _ That must’ve been Mike, I’ll need to call him back soon.  _ He wrote down the number on a nearby scrap of paper and stuffed it in his pocket.

He knew that Myra could wake up at any moment so he had to work fast. He needed to find a way to contact Richie and quickly. Suddenly he remembered his contract with all of Richie’s contact information on it. A copy of said contract should definitely be somewhere in his office, that is if Myra hadn’t gone and gotten rid of it first.

Rushing to his office, Eddie locked the door behind him, and made a beeline to his file cabinet.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, where the fuck are you….” he grumbled and moaned, sifting through the countless files, until his eye finally caught what he was looking for.

“Oh, thank God!” he exclaimed, immediately regretting how loud he was.

Yanking the paper out, he skimmed through the document until finally he zeroed in on what was Richie’s personal cell phone number next to his signature. He couldn’t even second guess his actions as his fingers were already dialing. 

_ Riiiing. Riiiing. Riiiing.  _

_ “Fuuuck  _ Rich, pick up the phone!”

“Hello??” Eddie didn’t know how much his heart would pick up at the sound of the man’s voice, a sound he had not heard in over a week.

“Richie, it’s me, Eddie,” Eddie whispered. “There’s no time to explain. But I need you to pick me up right now.”

“Funny you should say that,” Richie’s voice was a strange mix of nervous and excited. “Uh, you should come look outside.”

“What are you—” Eddie’s voice stopped as he heard the beep of the call ending. He was about to call back, ready to fume about how serious he was, when he heard the faint sound of music coming from the front lawn. 

Eddie approached the window in his office overlooking the lawn, jaw dropping as he pushed the curtain away and pulled up blinds to discover the source. Richie was standing on the sidewalk, holding an actual boombox above his head like he had walked right out some cheesy 80s movie. A shiny red Mustang idled behind him, and Eddie felt a warm relief spread through him at the very sight. He would have cried right then, but was suddenly aware of how very  _ loud  _ Richie was surely about to be, and Myra was not known for being a deep sleeper. 

Scrabbling with the lock, Eddie opened the window quickly. The music was instantly louder, and he recognized Buddy Holly’s dulcet tones crooning along over a dreamy mix of guitar, strings, and horns. 

_ ….sometimes we'll sigh, sometimes we'll cry…. _

“EDWARD FRANK KASPBRAK!” Richie yelled when Eddie popped his head out of the window. “WE MET IN MISS HEISTER’S CLASS IN FIRST GRADE! YOU WERE TOO AFRAID TO GO DOWN THE SLIDE AT RECESS SO I PUSHED YOU SO YOU WOULD SEE IT WASN’T SCARY!”

_ ….just you and I know true love ways…. _

“Richie—” Eddie tried to quiet him, but the comedian was already yelling again. Even as he attempted to shush the man, he felt his heart swelling at Richie’s words, another rush of memory hitting him as Richie continued: 

“I USED TO SNEAK INTO YOUR ROOM AT NIGHT TO KEEP YOU COMPANY WHEN YOUR MOM GROUNDED YOU. YOUR FAVORITE COLOR IS RED. YOU’VE ALWAYS HATED MUSHROOMS.”

_ ….throughout the days our true love ways... _

“Richie! Shut the music off!” Eddie hissed desperately, waving his hand across his neck in a chopping motion, and was relieved when Richie actually followed his directions, lowering the boombox and hastening to turn it off. 

_...will bring us joys to share with those who _ —

Buddy Holly’s voice ended abruptly. 

“I see what you’re trying to do,” Eddie said, “but we don’t have time. Wait for me in the car.” 

Before Richie could say anything else, Eddie shut the window, heart quickening as he shoved the contract into his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. He looked down at the phone still in his hand. He knew if he took it, Myra would be able to easily track where he was. He quickly scrolled through the settings, selecting the “Factory Reset” option, not wanting to leave behind anything personal that he may have on there still. Placing the device down on his desk, the shine of his ring caught his eye, weighing him down like a pair of heavy shackles. He removed the band from his finger, and also set it down to leave it right next to his phone.

Eddie was just a few steps from the front door when he noticed the numerous sets of keys hanging in the front hallway. He grabbed all of them, stowing them in the bag as well; Myra couldn’t follow them if she couldn’t get any of their cars started. He was just about ready to hightail it out of there, when he heard his wife’s groggy voice call to him from the living room. 

“Eddie-bear? What happened? What time is it?” 

Eddie could hear the couch groan as she got to her feet, and he was suddenly frozen in fear. He had taken too long. Myra was awake, and he was never going to get out of there. He was going to be trapped with her the rest of his life, all because he had to stop to take some damn keys. And then her footsteps were approaching, and there was a fire lit under Eddie’s ass to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. Finally being able to move his legs again, without waiting for another word, he wrenched the door open and launched himself out. He did not close the door behind him. 

“EDWARD?!”

Eddie did not look behind him as he dashed madly away from his house. Richie had thankfully heeded his words, and was waiting in the driver seat of the car. Upon seeing Eddie running towards him like a fugitive on the run, he quickly reached over to open the passenger door for him. Eddie vaulted into the car, slamming the door shut. 

_ “Hurry, drive!”  _ he urged frantically, scrambling to fasten his seatbelt. 

Richie didn’t need to be told twice, tires screeching as he peeled away into the night. 

Myra Kaspbrak watched from the doorway as her husband drove away, chin tilted downwards as she glared through slitted eyes. 

_ (he’s getting away but that’s alright we know where to find him) _

She closed the door with an eerie calmness, walking slowly back to the living room. She grabbed her phone from the couch and unlocked it. She serenely typed a search, scrolling for a few minutes before she found what she was looking for: plane tickets from New York City to Derry, Maine. 

_ (that’s alright we’ll find him and give him his medicine we’ll show him that we’re the only one who can take care of him that’s alright we’ll find him and then he’ll see and then we can show him how to float) _

_ “They’ll all float,” _ Myra said quietly to herself as she booked her ticket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow can you believe we mentioned Richie and Eddie's boners only like once in this chapter?? it's a holiday miracle-Lynds
> 
> IT'S FINALLY CLOWN TIME! Y'all don't realize HOW EXCITED WE ARE FOR WHAT WE HAVE IN STOREEEE-Bats


	7. Eddie Bites Off More Than He Can Chew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Eddie Takes A Mouthful

Richie and Eddie drove in silence for a few minutes, the latter anxiously glancing over his shoulder every so often. He expected to find Myra racing behind them—dog leash in hand, ready to drag him back to their home. She would keep him there forever, drugging his meals to keep him docile. It wasn’t until Richie’s hand dropped heavily on his thigh—full of a warmth and comfort that Eddie so desperately needed—that he let himself relax slightly.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie said in a deep, calming voice. His thumb rubbed soft circles against his thigh. “It’s going to be alright, you’re out of there.” 

Eddie didn’t respond, not wanting to voice his doubt out loud. Myra’s unstable behavior had him shaken beyond reason, and he was sure that they were being followed. He allowed himself one final look, sweeping across the street for a sign of any familiar vehicles. When he found none, he settled back into his seat, stealing a glimpse of Richie with his peripheral vision. 

“Richie, I—” Eddie began, but his voice caught in his throat. 

“I know.” Richie nodded. “This is fucking crazy. I mean—you and me—we—”

“Yeah. This _is_ crazy. How the hell did we not _know?”_

Another silence fell across the men as Richie continued driving. It then occurred to Eddie that they were not taking the usual route to his condo, instead merging onto the highway and heading north. 

“Where are we going?” he asked a little nervously. 

“We can’t go to my place, Steve’s probably already there waiting for me.” Almost as if on cue, Richie’s phone began to ring. He silenced it, ignoring the call. “Fuck, I probably should block him until we get back from Derry.”

“We’re going to Derry?” 

“Yeah, Mike called. He didn’t tell me much, but it sounded serious. And then I noticed this—” Richie held up his left hand, revealing the shiny scar that ran diagonally across his palm. Eddie realized he had a similar one, something he had never noticed before in his life. “It started hurting as soon as I heard his voice. And then he told me that Myra, well, uh—I just knew that you were going to need some help.”

Eddie stayed quiet, eyes staring blankly at the road ahead of them. His mind was still far away, trapped in that house with his wife. He was forcibly reminded of the package that had been delivered, the bottle of Viagra she had ordered without his knowledge. Eddie actually shuddered thinking about what she had planned, how his wife was just a few hours away from attempted rape. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. Not wanting Richie to see him crying, he turned away and hastily wiped at his face. The motion was not lost to the taller man, however, who in turn gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. 

“Don’t worry, Eds. We’ll be out of the city in no time, Maine is just a few hours away,” he tried to reassure him. “And then we can talk to Mike and see if we can get some answers to whatever the hell is going on. Plus, I think he said that the others are coming. Do you remember them? Bill, Ben, Bev—”

“—and Stan,” Eddie finished, feeling a watery grin spread across his face. “Fuck, I miss Stan. I miss _everyone._ How the _hell_ did we forget them all? Each other?” 

“Maybe we had amnesia or something?” Richie’s voice sounded doubtful even as he said it out loud. 

“I dunno, Rich. Sounds far-fetched.” Eddie stared morosely through the passenger window, vaguely registering his faint reflection. 

He had spent his entire adult life without ever giving his childhood a second thought. His past had always been a dark, hazy part of his memory that he never really questioned. Eddie had always been too focused on getting through his day-to-day life to really consider how strange it was that he didn’t even remember the name of the town that he grew up in. So now, sitting in that car with Richie—a man he could now recall was one of his best friends growing up—and having to face the reality of the situation, well, Eddie quite frankly did not know what to do with this onslaught of information.

A sudden, comforting thought flashed across his mind—Eddie realized that he now had an explanation for why he had been so drawn to Richie, how he had fallen so hard and so fast for the man: he was already in love with him. Eddie had fallen in love with Richie Tozier long ago, before he had shackled himself to Myra. He remembered Richie then: a lanky, bespectacled boy who always had a way of pushing all of his buttons. Eddie remembered the way his heart would skip a beat every time their hands or knees brushed against each other; the way the sun glinted off of his mop of curly brown hair; the way that Richie’s laughter vibrated warmly in his chest and made him feel things that no one else could possibly make him feel. He remembered how he had kept this all to himself, burying his feelings away—Eddie’s biggest secret. He remembered how he had held on to that secret with his dear life, afraid of those feelings and what would happen if he ever admitted them to himself, much less anyone else. 

“Hey, uh, I’m sorry for hitting you,” Richie’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I, uh—I feel real bad about it.”

“What?” Eddie asked blankly. The stress of the past week had completely eclipsed the memory of their fight in the alleyway. It all seemed so far away now. “Oh, yeah. Um, don’t worry about it.” 

Eddie’s face reddened as he recalled that night, how his body had reacted to Richie’s fist colliding with his nose, and what had followed. He then remembered what had preceded their time in the alleway, the disastrous non-date that he had somehow gotten so wrong. Richie’s seemed to be following a similar train of thought. 

“No, man,” the taller man conceded. “I really wanted to apologize for that whole night. I really fucked up. I had this whole big plan involving you and uh, Myra—and in true Trashmouth fashion, I forgot to let you in on all the details. My bad.” He grinned sheepishly before continuing, “I just thought if you brought Myra and she could see me with this girl, maybe she wouldn’t be so suspicious?”

Thinking back, that sounded exactly like something Richie would do. Eddie found it difficult to think back to that night, the whole memory clouded in a sea of despair and shame. He was overwhelmed with how utterly hurt and betrayed he felt. However, this new information coupled with the newfound memories of the man—and how he was in childhood—Eddie couldn’t help but have a change of heart. And if his words weren’t enough, Richie’s face clearly showed how sorry he was. In truth, a part of Eddie was still very much hurt over the way the night turned out, but something else inside him could no longer hold those events against him.

“That would have been a good plan—if she hadn’t already organized a binder of evidence and shit. She was waiting when I got home that night,” Eddie scoffed, gazing distantly out of the passenger window.

“Wait really? How much did she know??”

“Everything.”

“Ok but like when you say everyth—”

“She had _everything,_ Rich. Our texts, the photos—she even overheard the time we jerked off over FaceTime,” Eddie groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

“Oh yikes. That must have not been a fun thing to come home to.” 

“Yeah, you could say that again.”

They drove in silence for a while, the realization of everything that had occurred up till now setting in heavily. Richie bit his lip anxiously, wanting to say something to cut the tense air, but also not wanting to seem like he wasn’t taking things seriously.

“You know what that kind of reminds me of, though?” Richie grinned, cocking his head towards Eddie while keeping his eyes on the road.

“If this is gonna be another bit, Rich, I’m not in the mood—”

“No no, it’s not, I pinky swear!” Richie laughed, holding out his pinky towards Eddie, to which he responded by dully smacking the hand away. “No, I just I—I got reminded of when I used to sneak into your room when we were kids, and we’d get caught by your mom.”

The memory washed over Eddie, the simple innocence of their childhood painting a fond smile on his face.

“You used to climb the tree outside my window to get in, I was shocked at how we didn’t get caught at all the noise you made alone. You ripped your pants once doing that,” Eddie snorted out, little fits of giggles shaking his shoulders.

“Geez, you still remember that?? That was one time!” Richie playfully shoved Eddie in his seat, a wide grin of his own dancing on his lips.

Eddie continued to laugh, the memory in question fresh on his mind. He could clearly recall Richie, scrambling

_up the tree outside of his window, struggling with the swaying branches._

_“Richie, you’re gonna fall!” Eddie harshly whispered, anxiety at an all time high, seeing how high up the tree went from the hard unforgiving ground below._

_“Aww, you worry too much! It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” Richie laughed, fixing his_ — _too big for his face—glasses, straightening them._

_“I should just close my window on you, you’re gonna get me in more trouble than I already am!”_

_“No you won’t, Mrs. K loves me, remember? All I gotta do is bat my eyelashes and you’ll get away scott free!”_

_“Beep fucking beep Richie.”_

_“Besides, I brought my new Buddy Holly record, so we could listen to it!” Richie waved the small tote he had dangling on his arm, the record safely inside._

_“Richie, I don’t wanna listen to your fucking grandpa music,” Eddie tiredly replied, rolling his eyes as Richie continued to climb, his hand chopping at the air as emphasis for his words._

_“Buddy Holly isn’t grandpa music! He was a genius! A true arteest.” Richie dramatically brought his hand to his chest, feigning hurt on his face._

_“Sorry sorry, okay? Just fucking get up here already!”_

_As Eddie helped Richie climb over his windowsill, Richie didn’t realize a stray branch was caught on one of his pant belt loops. With a final yank into Eddie’s room, the two boys heard a loud_ RIIIIPPPP. _Immediately the two froze, Richie finally sitting on Eddie’s hardwood floor._

_“Uhhhh Eddie?”_

_“Y-yeah, Richie?”_

_“I think my pants just ripped…”_

_“You fucking think?”_

_Grumbling the whole time, Eddie looked for something Richie could borrow to wear, he obviously couldn’t go back home tonight with a giant-ass hole on the butt of his pants. Finally he chucked a pair of red shorts at Richie’s face, the fabric covering the top of his head._

_“Damn Eddie, how many of these tiny little shorts do you have??”_

_“I could take them back, and you could run the two blocks it takes to get to your house with your ass out to the world.”_

_Richie was quick to snatch the shorts off his head before Eddie could make good on his word, quickly changing into them. Richie was slightly taller than Eddie so the shorts really emphasised just how lanky he was. The shorter boy was suddenly grateful for the cover of the darkness as his face reddened at the sight of his friend wearing his shorts, long, pale legs jutting out from the too-small pair._

_“So are you going to play that dumb record or what?” Eddie muttered, throwing himself on his bed._

_“I thought you didn’t like my grandpa music?” Richie teased, pulling the album from the bag he had brought along. He admired the cover for a moment, proudly looking down at Buddy Holly’s smiling face in the dim light._

_“Anything is better than that shitty Christian music my mom makes me listen to.”_

_“C’mon, Eds, just admit that you loooooove my grandpa music.” Richie made a kissy face at Eddie and he somehow felt his cheeks burn even hotter._

_“Ugh, that’s not my name.”_

_Eddie watched as Richie sauntered over to the dresser that his secondhand turntable sat on. He carefully removed the record from it’s sleeve, lifting the needle and delicately placing it down. Eddie realized too late that the volume must still have been turned up rather loudly from the last time he had used the record player, but Richie was already flipping the switch to power it on. The room was immediately filled with the thundering blare of a guitar riff, followed by Buddy Holly’s voice singing along:_

Well, that'll be the DAY when you say good-BYE  
Yes, that'll be the DAY when you make me CRY

_“Ohmygod shut it UP!” Eddie hissed._

You say you gonna LEAVE, you know it's a LIE  
‘Cause that'll be the DAAAAAY when I _—_

_Holly’s voice cut off as Richie hastily removed the needle, but it was too late; there was already a sliver of light shining through the crack under Eddie’s door._

_“Hide!” Eddie urged, jumping into his bed and tossing a blanket over his body._

_Richie didn’t need to be told twice, diving underneath Eddie’s bed and shimmying as far under it as he could. A split second later the door swung open, Mrs. Kaspbrak framed in the doorway by the hallway light._

_“Edward Kaspbrak!” she snapped, hands on her hips. “I know you’re not asleep. I heard voices. Where is he?”_

_Eddie didn’t respond, heart pounding so hard he was sure his mother could hear it. Although she had already called his bluff, he hoped that she would somehow end up leaving, so he and Richie could hang out (QUIETLY) and just laugh about all of this in the morning._

_“Richard Tozier if you don’t come out here right this instant, Eddie will be grounded for two more weeks!”_

_“Alright, alright,” Richie’s voice finally piped up from under the bed after a moment. “You caught me.” He awkwardly scooted out from under the bed, and Eddie resigned to guiltily throw the blanket off, sitting up and avoiding his mother’s accusing stare. “You’re looking ravishing as always, Mrs. K. Did you get a new perm?”_

_“You need to go home,” Mrs. Kaspbrak cut him off tersely. “Do you realize what time it is?”_

_“The party never sleeps, Mrs. K.”_

_Eddie’s mother rolled her eyes and shook her head, pointing out through the doorway._

_“You’re lucky I don’t call your parents. As for_ you _—” She rounded on Eddie. “I expect better. Two more weeks.”_

_“But—” Eddie and Richie protested in unison._

_“I don’t want to hear it! Now you get to bed, young man!”_

_Richie threw Eddie one last apologetic look as he put his record back in the sleeve, allowing Mrs. Kaspbrak to escort him out of the room. With one last, disapproving glare, she shut the door, leaving Eddie alone._

“Man, my mom really didn’t like you, huh?” Eddie mused. 

“What are you talking about _—_ she _loved_ me,” Richie joked, throwing Eddie a ridiculously exaggerated wink. “Oh, I never thought I’d _miss_ Mrs. K.”

“Let me guess, this is where you tell me you fucked my mom?” 

“I mean, I was going to _—_ but looks like you beat me to it.” The words were out of Richie’s traitorous mouth before he could stop them. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie’s voice hardened. 

“Well _—uh—_ you kind of married your mom, dude. I mean, my memory may be pretty bad, but Myra is, like, the _spitting image_ of Sonia.” 

Eddie didn’t answer, considering what Richie had pointed out. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t something that he had thought of before, and the similarities didn’t end with their looks. Myra was like his mother in every conceivable way: meddling, smothering, controlling. Eddie recalled when he had come across an old family photo album, and how shocked he had been to see an old photo of his mother. The shock had come from the fact that he hadn’t immediately recognized the woman in the photo as his mother, but rather wondered how this picture of Myra had made its way into this old album. He had been sick to his stomach when he realized his mistake. It was then that it occurred to Eddie that he had been participating in some sick form of psychological incest. He had buried those thoughts deep, unwilling to face them and what they meant about and for him. 

“Can we talk about something else?” Eddie asked quietly, eyes averting downward. His hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles white. Myra was the last person he wanted to think about right now, especially considering the events of the past week. 

Richie glanced over for a quick moment, noting how uncomfortable Eddie clearly was. He knew there was something he wasn’t telling him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the look of pure terror on Eddie’s face as he jumped into his car. As much as he wanted to ask about what had happened, he knew that was a story for another day. So Richie did what he did best, and began talking—determined to take Eddie’s mind off of whatever was going on in that head of his. 

“I wonder how the gang all turned out.” Richie mused. Eddie turned to him in question.

“The rest of the Losers?”

“Yeah! Like, what have they been doing this whole time?”

“Weren’t Bill and Beverly sort of seeing each other?” Eddie speculated. 

“Well, wasn’t Bev the first to move? I’m not sure if they kept in touch.”

Eddie thought to all the Losers, and wondered once more how he could have forgotten the group of kids that he grew up with, the friends who he had loved so fiercely.

“What if they all forgot? Like we did?” Eddie wondered.

Richie was silent for a moment as he took in what Eddie just said.

“Oh shit—I didn’t even think about that. If the both of us forgot, they might have too. Well, everyone but Mike I guess. Sounds like he never left Derry either.”

“Who would want to stay in Derry?” Eddie scoffed. 

The two let out a laugh, continuing their back and forth, reminiscing in old times as more and more memories returned. 

They drove for a while longer, and Eddie started to feel more and more hungry. This past week Myra refused to let him eat when she wasn’t looking, even going so far as putting locks on the cabinets. And the food she did provide him was bland and barely enough to sustain him. 

_“Only good boys deserve treats before dinner. You haven’t been a very good boy, have you, dear?”_

Eddie shook his head, blocking out Myra’s voice from his head. She wasn’t here. He escaped. And hopefully—if he played his cards right—he’d never have to see her again.

His thoughts were interrupted as he realized Richie was exiting off of the highway. .

“Are we stopping somewhere?”

“Dude, you didn’t hear your stomach just now? We need to get some food. How about Arby’s?” Richie grinned, pointing at the Arby’s sign in the distance.

“You didn’t learn from the last time you got Arby’s with me in the car?”

“Hey, technically, this is _my_ rental. So if I spill my milkshake again, that’s fine.”

“That’s not the point! Why do you subject your stomach to a bootleg Reuben??”

“Fine, you don’t have to get a Reuben. I’ll buy you curly fries.”

Eddie was silent, leaning back in his seat and pouting slightly.

“.....And an apple turnover please,” Eddie grumbled.

Richie barked out a cackle. “You got it!”

As they got closer and closer, Eddie could feel himself almost salivate at the thought of eating good food again. No more blended chicken mush with unseasoned potatoes for him!

They took one final turn into the Arby’s parking lot. Richie began to drive towards the drive thru. 

“Let’s just go inside, I wanna stretch my legs.” Eddie stopped Richie, pointing to an empty parking spot right by the door.

“Isn’t this where normally you’d give a lecture on how much bacteria lives on fast food tables, or how unsanitary their ice is?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Richie….I just don’t put ice in my drink,” Eddie shrugged.

“That’s weird, who doesn’t like ice in their drinks?”

“Me, asshole!” 

“But then your drink gets warm.”

“My teeth get sensitive when the soda’s too cold! Plus, do you know how dirty the ice is? It’s dirtier than toilet water! Do you want fucking toilet water on steroids in your drink??” Eddie’s hand chopped away through his words.

“Here we go….”

Eddie continued to list off the horrible research findings of all the unsanitary things involved in fast food as they got out of the car, and made their way inside.

“And another thing, do you know how many fast food restaurants don’t enforce hairnets, even though they’re required for handling food? I went to McDonalds one time—never again—and there was a hair in my McGriddle, Rich, A HAIR!”

Richie went towards the register as Eddie continued, not even noticing Richie was no longer standing next to him. It wasn’t until a piping hot apple turnover was being waved in front of him did he stop.

“So if all of that is true, then you probably don’t want this bacteria-ridden, hairy apple _—”_

“Give it here.” 

Eddie snatched the pastry from Richie’s hand, wolfing it down. He held down the urge to moan and roll his eyes back from the sweet taste, it had been so long since he’d had actual flavor to his food. Richie watched as the smaller man finished the turnover in just a few large bites, amused. 

“C’mon, let’s sit down.” 

Eddie grunted in agreement, following Richie to a nearby table. He inspected it closely, making sure there were no errant crumbs or greasy streaks _—_ before taking a seat. Richie set a plastic tray laden with a paper bag in the center of the table, distributing its contents between the two of them. 

“What’s this?” Eddie eyed the sandwich and curly fries before him warily. “I told you I didn’t want any fake Reuben _—”_

“Relax,” smiled Richie. “It’s just roast beef and cheddar. What do you want to drink?” He waved an empty cup in the air. 

“Diet Coke.” 

“You know, I should have known,” he laughed, making his way toward the drink station. “One Diet Coke _—extra_ ice _—_ coming right up.”

“No ice!” Eddie called back, his irritated tone betrayed by the grin that had spread across his lips. 

He ate a few curly fries, then a few more, and by the time Richie was back with the drinks he was nearly done with the container. Eddie took his soda gratefully, gulping down a few quick drinks. Richie watched with rapt attention as he unwrapped the sandwich, body stiffening slightly when Eddie took his first bite and actually did moan that time. He had hardly finished swallowing when he took another large chomp, scarfing the sandwich in a matter of moments. He turned his focus back on the fries, grabbing the rest of them in one greasy handful and shoving them into his mouth. 

Richie was actually slightly concerned as he watched Eddie wolf down his food, almost like a man who was having his first meal after years of prison. _What the fuck did Myra do to him_ , he wondered, not for the first time. _I should have called the cops when I had the chance._

_(you should have done something you could have done something but you didn’t you left him there who knows what she did to him she was starving him he could have died look at how thin he is look at those bruises on his arms you could have done something but you left him there you’re useless you were too scared you were being selfish you could have done something you could have)_

“What the fuck are you staring at, dickwad?” Eddie’s sharp voice thankfully quieted the harsh one in his head. “Are you going to eat, or what?” 

“Huh?” Richie looked down at his forgotten sandwich, still in the wrapper. “Oh, yeah. You want my fries?” 

Eddie didn’t need to be asked twice, reaching over and plucking up the carton of fries. Richie unwrapped his sandwich, not really tasting the Rueben as he slowly chewed. Eddie finished off the rest of his fries, and soon enough they had both eaten their fill. They sat in contented silence for a while, before Eddie let out one of the largest burps Richie had ever heard _—_ so loud it attracted glances from nearly every other Arby’s patron. The comedian erupted in raucous, body-shaking laughter as Eddie’s face turned beet red. 

“Eh-Excuse me,” he stammered loudly with a nervous laugh. 

“Oh _—oh man,”_ Richie choked, doubled over with mirth. “You know, you really haven’t changed, dude.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, but his face softened as he looked back to Richie. 

“You either. You’re just as tall and annoying as I remember you.” 

“Spagheds get off a GOOD one!” Richie sighed happily, laughter slowly dying down. 

Richie pulled out his phone, balking slightly when he saw the number of missed calls and messages he had from his manager. Ignoring them, he checked the time. 

“So _—uh—_ what do you think about getting a hotel tonight?” Richie asked, voice lowering as he leaned forward. “We don’t need to be in Derry ‘til tomorrow, and it’s getting pretty late.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said, voice suddenly much shakier than he would have liked it to be. “Yeah, a hotel? That sounds like a plan. Sure. Let’s do it. I mean _—_ stay at a hotel, not _—it—_ I mean _—”_

“Okay, great. Glad we’re on the same page,” Richie cut in with a grin. “You about ready to go?” 

“Me? Oh, yeah. Let’s go _—_ to the hotel,” Eddie answered, very much wishing his mouth would just stop moving. 

Richie gathered their trash onto a tray, walking it over to a nearby trashcan while Eddie waited by the door, unaware of the way his leg was jiggling nervously. The pair made their way back to the red Mustang parked outside, taking their places in the driver and passenger seats. The engine roared to life, and Richie was pulling out of the parking lot when Eddie remembered the scant bag he had packed. 

“Hey, uh, Rich?” he asked nervously. 

“What’s up, man?” 

“I don’t have a toothbrush, or anything,” Eddie admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t really have a lot of time…”

“Don’t worry, we can stop at a CVS or something on the way,” Richie assured him. 

“Thanks, Richie.” 

“No problemo, Eduardo.” 

_“Not_ my name.” 

Richie pulled onto the highway, and Eddie felt his eyelids grow heavy as they drove on. He must have eventually drifted off to sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the car as they sped down the road. He had a fitful sleep _—_ full of endless tunnels, infinitely dark and filled with a putrid, rotting stench. His eyes ultimately fluttered open again when he heard the sound of his name being called, a warm hand gently shaking him awake. 

“Hey, Eds. We’re here,” Richie was muttering, and Eddie realized that they had stopped moving. “I already stopped at a Walgreens. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a bunch of stuff.” He lifted a few plastic bags that Eddie could see were heavily laden with various toiletries. “Come on, let’s go see if they have a room available.” 

Still bleary eyed from his nap, Eddie silently followed Richie into the modest-looking hotel _—_ not that he expected the Ritz or anything like that. Letting out a slight yawn, he started digging through one of the plastic bags, taking mental inventory of its contents. 

“You forgot the mouthwash,” Eddie pointed out.

“Who actually uses mouthwash?” 

“Are you kidding?? Do you know the amount of germs that you can’t fucking reach with a toothbrush? Do you want to have bad breath—”

“I’m just shitting you, Eds.” Richie tossed an item at Eddie, who easily caught it. A small travel sized bottle of blue kid’s mouthwash clasped in his hand. “It’s blue raspberry flavored!”

“Do I look like an 8 year old to you?” Eddie grumbled, shoving the bottle into one of his bags. 

As they walked inside, Eddie noticed how empty the lobby was, down to his left was a small sitting area with soft looking couches and shelves filled with random books covering the opposite wall.

“Hey Rich, I’m gonna look for a restroom, I'll be right back!”

“I’ll just text you the room number,” Richie stated as he grabbed Eddie’s bags from his arms.

“I left my phone at the house, though. I didn’t want Myra to track us—”

“Check your pocket! I put something in it when you were sleeping.” Richie smiled as he turned away, walking towards the front desk.

“My pocket…?”

Eddie felt around his pockets, before feeling a rectangular object in his front left one.. Pulling it out, he looked down at a small black cell phone. Richie had bought him a burner phone? Powering it on, he looked through its contents, it seemed to be just a very basic call and text phone, with a single unopened text message.

_We’ll get you a better one once this weekend is over and I take you back to LA with me -Richie_

A dizzying flood of happiness filled Eddie at the idea of staying with Richie after all this was over. With a fond smile, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued down the hall.

Richie made his way to the front desk, ringing the bell sitting there and looking around to see if any staff members were around. 

“Hello?”

“Yessir, my apologies.” The front desk clerk hurried from a office adjacent to the lobby, smoothing their lapel. “Welcome to the Nootka Lodge, looking to stay for the night?”

“Uhh, yeah, is there a King available?”

The front desk employee looked away to type on their computer.

“It seems like there is one king available on the 3rd floor. May I see a form of identification, and a credit card to put in our system sir?”

Without a word, Richie passed the requested cars to the employee. 

“Richard Tozier….wait...Are you Richie Tozier? As in Trashmouth Tozier?”

“Oh uhhh, heh—yeah, that’s me.” Richie ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly. 

“Oh my god, I’m a big fan! I was just watching your first _Humor Center_ special last night!” the employee gushed.

“Oh—uhhh thanks, that was from—”

“You just got out of college in that special, didn’t you?”

“D-Do you want a picture?” Richie stuttered. Even after over a decade of being in Hollywood, he still felt really awkward around his fans; he would never get used to the idea that so many people around the country knew his name.

“Yes please! None of my coworkers would believe I met you!”

Smiling for a quick selfie, he returned the phone back to the receptionist. The employee slid back his ID and card.

“Alright, so one king room for y—”

“W-wait…” Richie didn’t know why the thought of this employee finding out he was staying in a single bed room with another man—with Eddie—left a bad taste in his mouth. But the words left his mouth before he could even realize what they were. “D-did I say king? I’ll actually need a double room. My— uhhh— friend is in the restroom right now.” 

“Oh, ok… it’ll come with an extra charge, is that alright?”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.”

His palms suddenly became sweaty, nervous about the receptionist asking too many questions. 

“Here are your room keys, Mr. Tozier. Room 216 is on the 2nd floor.” The employee slid a pair of card keys across the counter towards Richie.

“Thanks,” was all Richie said as he grabbed the card, and headed towards the elevator. He sent a quick text to Eddie, sending him directions to their room.

Splashing his face with a bit of water, Eddie wiped away some of the remaining drowsiness from his eyes. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was gaunt from the lack of nourishment these past few days, but he did see a bit of color returning to his cheeks. Large bags dragged down under his eyes, dark and prominent. He mentally berated himself for not packing any of his medicinal creams or prescriptions. He would just have to do without and hope for the best, worried about how his body may react to not taking his meds for the first time since he could remember.

The phone in his pocket beeped rather loudly. He flipped it open to find another message from Richie, containing their room number. Eddie wondered how often Richie would make his heart race like this as he made his way towards the elevators. It then occurred to him that he would finally be sleeping in a _bed,_ a luxury he hadn’t known in over nearly two weeks. Not only that, he would be sharing said bed with the one and only Richie Tozier. That thought alone was enough to make him feel light-headed, unable to stop the sheepish grin that spread across his face. 

That grin fell slightly as Eddie swallowed past a lump that was developing in his throat. He considered what was to come next. Neither of them had mentioned the obvious elephant in the room: all of these years later and Eddie finally knew that the undeniable attraction he’d developed for Richie was in fact mutual. It left him with more questions than anything _—_ how long had Richie felt this way? Was there more he wasn’t remembering? Eddie was certain of it, filled with a strong, nagging feeling that they had barely scratched the surface of their years in Derry. 

The elevator let out a soft _ding!_ to signal that he had reached his floor. Following the signs on the hallway, Eddie eventually found their room. He stood outside it, blood pounding in his ears as his fist hovered over the door, poised to knock but unable to bring himself to do so. There were so many things Eddie wanted on the other side of that door: a shower, a toothbrush, a bed, _Richie._ He wanted all of this more than he could possibly comprehend. But there was a voice in the back of his head that was getting louder by the moment, telling him that he didn’t deserve this, that he

_(would surely go straight to HELL with the rest of those SINNING FAGOTS if he even thought about going through that door you should be home with your WIFE you made a VOW that you have BROKEN and now you are going STRAIGHT to HELL where you belong because you are nothing but a DIRTY DISGUSTING SICK DEPRAVED PERVERT)_

The voice was shrill and grating, reminding Eddie horribly of both his mother and his wife at the same time. His fist fell to his side, and he had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was being watched. Before he could jerk around to find the eyes that were surely boring a hole into the back of his head, the door before him swung open, revealing Richie on the other side. Both of them cried out in alarm, jolting away from each other in shock. 

“Holy shit _,_ Eds!” Richie laughed shakily. “Fuck, man. You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing just standing out there like that? C’mon.” 

“I was just about to knock, asshole,” Eddie shot back. 

He allowed himself one sweeping glance across the hallway _—_ it was completely empty. Suppressing a shudder, he quickly brushed past Richie and into the room. He didn’t notice the taller man place the _Do Not Disturb_ sign on the door knob. Richie closed the door behind him, and Eddie took note of how quickly he bolted the various locks. It was then that he got a good look at the room, and his heart sank into his stomach when he came to a realization: there were two beds. 

Richie must have noticed his eyes fixated directly on the two twin beds in the center of the room, because he laughed nervously: “It was, uh, all they had.” 

“What? Oh, it’s nothing. It’s fine.” Eddie was mortified at how disappointed he sounded. He averted his eyes from Richie’s embarrassed gaze, continuing quickly, “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

He snatched up his duffle bag and one of the plastic bags of toiletries and hurried into the restroom, and Richie heard the lock click after the door closed. The comedian groaned to himself, shoulders slumping as he sat heavily on one of the beds. 

“Good fucking going, Trashmouth,” he muttered to himself. 

He still wasn’t sure what had made him book this room with it’s maddeningly small beds. The person at the front desk hadn’t even seen him and Eddie enter together. So why had he been filled with this overwhelming dread at even the thought of them knowing that they would be sharing a bed?

_(because you know it’s wrong you know what they would think of a faggot like you they would be disgusted they would have told the world you took a picture with them she would have had proof they would have exposed you as the faggot you are)_

Richie tried to block that voice out, focusing instead on the sound of water running coming from the bathroom. Eddie was in that shower. Eddie Kaspbrak. One of his best friends from childhood. The first boy he’d ever had a crush on. The boy who was now a man who knew _exactly_ how enamored Richie was by him, a man who somehow wanted him seemingly just as badly. A man who Richie just may have given the completely wrong message by booking a damn double room instead of a king. He nervously hoped that Eddie bought his lie _—_ besides, who cared if there were two beds? They could cuddle up on one just fine, there was more than enough room. 

_(yeah as if eddie wants to share a bed with you now you saw his face you saw how disappointed he is you fucked up just like you fuck everything else up you useless pathetic good-for-nothing)_

“Shhhh,” Richie whispered to himself, not realizing just how heavy his eyelids were becoming as he continued to concentrate on the soothing sound of water running. It wasn’t long before he was dozing, emitting light snores. 

Eddie stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, freshly showered and feeling at least a little better than he had before. He had considered asking Richie if they could share a bed anyway, desperate just for some warmth and human contact. Then he had seen the comedian, sprawled out across one of the beds, fully clothed and snoring quite loudly now. His glasses were skewed across his face, close to dropping off of his nose completely. Eddie wrinkled his nose at the thought of sleeping like that, and prodded Richie gently. 

“Hey, Rich, aren’t you gonna shower?” he asked softly. The taller man blinked blearily at him, grunting in response. He was clearly still asleep. “C’mon, Richie, at least put on some pajamas or something.” 

Richie grinned at him groggily, before his head rolled right back into the bed and he continued his slumber. Eddie sighed heavily, reaching out to remove Richie’s glasses before they fell to the ground. He folded the legs closed and placed them on the bedside table where the taller man could easily find them in the morning. He then quickly unlaced Richie’s shoes and yanked them off, forcibly ignoring the sudden urge to take a good whiff of his feet. After throwing the shoes to the ground, he allowed himself one final, lingering glance at Richie, eyes full of longing and adoration.

It was a few moments before Eddie was able to tear his eyes away, eventually resigning to clamber into the empty bed after turning out the lights. He almost cried in relief at the feeling of finally being able to sink into an actual mattress, savoring the softness of the pillows that he rested his head on. He wrapped himself in the blanket, trying to ignore how much he wished it was Richie warming him instead. 

_(you don’t DESERVE this bed only GOOD boys get to sleep in the bed and you have been a VERY BAD BOY eddie you should be at HOME with your WIFE you haven’t learned your LESSON eddie-bear)_

Eddie shut his eyes tight, trying to fend off that horrible voice. He thought instead of Richie, about the secrets of their past, and what their future would hold. 

He eventually fell asleep. 

Richie and Eddie slept on their own beds, apart and unaware of the terrors that the other was facing behind their shut eyelids. It was Richie who moved first, bodily thrashing about in his deep slumber. Eddie was more subtle, hands reaching out to grip the bed sheets around him as sweat beaded down his forehead. Had there been anyone there to witness it, they would have seen Richie as he suddenly jerked forward into a sitting position, swaying slightly as his closed eyes stared _—_ unseeing _—_ towards Eddie. 

Richie held that position for nearly half an hour, chest rising and falling rapidly. Eddie, still deeply asleep, was oblivious, trapped in his own nightmare. Richie eventually stood, body moving jerkily as he walked around his bed and towards the smaller man. He came to a halt at the foot of the bed, body slightly hunched over. He stood there a good while, stock still, breath coming out in ragged gasps as he muttered in his sleep. 

It wasn’t until Eddie suddenly began screaming _—_ knuckles white as they grasped the blankets around him for dear life _—_ that Richie was jerked from his slumber, knees buckling in his surprise at finding himself standing instead of laying in bed. He collapsed onto the bed, unable to stop himself before he toppled directly onto Eddie. 

Eddie’s wide eyes flashed with fear, not fully comprehending who’s weight it was exactly that was constricting his lungs. His mouth still opened wide in a loud scream, and he tried jerking away from the sudden weight on his chest. 

“Ed—Eds, it’s me.”

Richie lifted himself off, yet Eddie continued to bang on his chest with his fists, crying out.

“Eddie!”

“NO, STAY AWAY! I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!”

“EDDIE IT’S ME!” Richie gripped Eddie’s face, forcing him to look into his eyes. Eddie froze, staring back up at Richie’s glasses-less face.

“R-Richie?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. You’re fine, we’re fine.” Richie caressed Eddie’s cheek with his thumb, wiping away a stray tear that fell from Eddie’s still fearful eyes.

“W-what’s going on? Wah—where, where am I?”

“You’re okay. We’re at the hotel, remember? Tomorrow we’re meeting the Losers.”

Eddie slowly began to relax, his hands loosening from their tight fists.

“There you are, don’t worry I’m here—I’m here, Eds.”

Eddie reached forward, pulling Richie back on top of him, wrapping his arms around his torso. His shoulders shook in silent sobs, his heart still beating frantically from the horrendous images his mind conjured up in his sleep. 

“Shhh, It’s ok, Eds, you’re safe now.” Richie quickly recuperated from the surprise of Eddie pulling him down again, and softly stroked his sweat-dampened hair. He pressed a soft kiss on Eddie’s slick forehead.

They stayed motionless for a while, held in each other’s embrace. Eddie finally evened his breath, his heart rate slowing. 

“That must’ve been quite a fucking nightmare, Eddie, if it spooked you this much,” Richie grinned, placing another kiss on the crown of Eddie’s head.

“Beep beep, Rich,” Eddie mumbled, burying himself further into Richie’s warm chest.

“Here, if we’re gonna cuddle, let’s at least get in a better position.” Richie lifted himself up once more, and climbed right into the bed, next to Eddie, pulling the covers over the both of them. He drew Eddie closer, their legs intertwining underneath the sheets.

“Your feet are fucking freezing, asshole,” Eddie hissed as Richie wiggled his toes, grazing them on Eddie’s own.

“Then let me warm them up,” Richie grinned, rubbing his cold feet on Eddie’s legs. The man let out a small yelp as freezing-cold toes danced around the skin of his calves.

“Rich, your feet are literally ice!”

“Are they? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Get off of meeee,” Eddie whined, Richie looking on in mirth as he continued to pull Eddie close. He let out a bright laugh, as they rolled around on the bed, not unlike their earlier days as children. Small giggles began to escape even from Eddie, as they continued to wrestle playfully on the bed.

Richie fell off the right side of the bed with a _thunk,_ groaning as his head made contact with the dresser.

“Shit, you ok?” Eddie peered over at Richie..

“Yeah, I’m good. These beds aren’t that big though.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eddie frowned. “Maybe we should just try getting some sleep again.”

“Naw, fuck that. I have an idea.”

Richie got up and walked to the other side of the bed. “Help me move this nightstand.”

“Rich, what are you doing??”

“Gonna make the bed bigger!” Richie smirked at Eddie.

Eddie’s face became flush with red as not so innocent insinuations danced around in his head. The thoughts and insecurities from before returned full force.

( _how DARE you even think of such things just think of your poor WIFE back at home so worried so scared for her eddie-beAR SHE ONLY WANTED WHAT WAS BEST FOR YOU this man just wants to use you hes lying to you you dont love him you love your WIFE what will myra think if she knew just how much of a DIRTY SINFUL FAGOT you really are you PERVERT you dirty Lecher you FILTH YOU_ )

“Eddie?? You good there, man?” Eddie was brought back to the present as Richie waved his hand around, trying to get Eddie’s attention. 

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” 

“You checked out for a second, there. Penny for your thoughts?”

“You’re a big shot celeb, you can pay more than that.” Eddie laughed, trying to keep his mind away from the voices that continued to spew filth.

“Oh, so the man has jokes now.” Richie laughed. “Well if you got time to laugh over there, you could use that energy to help me move this night stand.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like sitting here, seeing you struggle.” Eddie flashed a smirk of his own. 

Richie blew out a breath, staring at Eddie with exasperation. After a while Eddie rolled his eyes, and joined Richie in heaving the surprisingly heavy night stand to the other side of the room, and shoving both beds together.

Letting out simultaneous groans, they both fell onto the combined mattresses. Eddie’s heart pulsed in his ear as he looked over at Richie, only to be met with such a tender gaze from the taller man.

“Eds?” Richie whispered.

“Y-yeah?” Eddie replied, not even bothering to correct him anymore. His lips trembled as Richie pulled him closer, and pulled Eddie’s body on top of his own. Richie’s hand reached up, stroking the tousled hair from his face.

“God, you’re just as stunning as I remembered.” Richie murmured. 

Eddie’s eyes widened at the declaration, and the sound of Richie’s voice was enough to cast away any doubt, any insecurity he had—if only Richie would never stop looking at him as he was just then. The voices that whispered poison into his mind suddenly seemed to vanish, and tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong, Eds?” Richie sat up, and held Eddie close, their foreheads resting on each other.

“F-fuck you, Richie. W-why the fuck do you have to be that sappy?” Eddie pulled away slightly to wipe away the tears, but more just seemed to replace them every time he did. Richie smiled fondly, peppering Eddie’s face with small kisses.

“Not my fault you make me all mushy and shit.” 

“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Eddie pulled Richie close, finding his lips with his own—their bodies fitting together as if they were never meant to separate. Richie’s touch was warm and good and everything Eddie needed after the horror of a week he’d had. Kissing Richie felt like _home—_ and the smaller man didn’t want it to end. Eddie’s arms wrapped around his neck, savoring the feeling of the comedian’s stubble as it scratched against his cheek, almost drowning in Richie’s familiar, musky smell. And then Richie’s big hands were slipping under his shirt, one at the small of his back and the other traveling up his chest. 

The pair broke apart for just a moment, enough time for Richie to smoothly slide Eddie’s shirt up and over his head. Their lips met again, desperate and _hungry._ Eddie’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on Richie’s shirt, steadily progressing down until it was full open and exposing his undershirt. 

“Jesus Christ, you still wear so many damn _layers,”_ Eddie grumbled impatiently.

“Hey, this is _vintage_.”

Richie hurriedly shimmied out of his tops, finally revealing his bare chest. Eddie practically devoured him with his eyes, raking over the swaths of curls that grew down his torso, disappearing under his pants. He suddenly recalled the first night they had spent together, how he had wanted to just bury his face in that chest _—_ so he did, hooking his arms around Richie’s neck. It was then that Richie got a much clearer view of Eddie’s biceps, and the dark bruises that bloomed there. Even without his glasses he could see the marks were blossoming up and down his arms in handprint patterns. 

Richie gently grabbed Eddie’s wrists with either hand. Eddie looked puzzled as Richie wordlessly guided him down, letting him lay on the mattress before him. He had a better view of the smaller man then, those deep, expressive eyes peering up expectantly at him from under long eyelashes. Richie’s eyes traveled down, landing on his chest. He noticed for the first time a series of splotchy red marks that looked suspiciously like some sort of chemical burn, and Richie had to actually fight back tears when he realized all of the damage that Myra had done in just that week alone. 

“Rich _—”_

Eddie’s voice was cut off by Richie’s mouth catching his own, teeth clashing as they were locked in another furious kiss filled with unbridled emotion. It was only a moment later when Richie ripped away from him, lips moving down to his shoulder instead. The taller man gently handled Eddie’s arm, planting feather-light kisses across every single bruise and burn that blemished his skin. Eddie inhaled sharply when Richie’s lips moved to his chest, softly stroking his skin with one thumb, then meeting that same spot with his mouth a second later. 

“You’re so beautiful, Eds,” Richie murmured against his skin, and Eddie actually believed him.

They continued like this for a while, Richie softly kissing his way across Eddie’s body, leaving no welt or burn untouched. He stopped every now and then, reminding Eddie of just how fucking gorgeous he was. When he reached the waistband of his pants, Richie merely hooked his fingers in, smoothly sliding them down and leaving the smaller man in just a fitted pair of boxer briefs. Richie set to work on his legs, attacking his thighs with gentle kisses. Eddie was a quivering mess by the end, skin erupted into gooseflesh at Richie’s delicate ministrations. 

Eddie’s erection struggled against the thin material of his underwear, and Richie ghosted his palm across it. His hips bucked up into the touch, drawing a low, needy whine when they actually made contact. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie’s voice was rough, low, and sent a thrill straight through Eddie. “I want you so bad.” 

“Then why are your pants still on?” Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him, and Richie grinned wide. He kicked off his pants as fast as he could, and Eddie felt his cock twitch when he saw just how much his crotch was bulging in his briefs. 

“There, now we’re all caught up.”

Richie was pressing his lips against the inside of Eddie’s thigh now, nipping at the sensitive flesh there. Eddie cried out then, back arching at the small spark of pain that shot through his skin. 

“Oh, yeah,” Richie grinned. “That’s what I want to hear. Can I suck your cock?” 

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when Richie asked that, and he found that he had somehow lost his voice completely. He nodded quickly, barely finishing before Richie’s fingers were slipping into the waistband of his underwear. He slid them down with ease, tossing them over his head to be abandoned with the rest of the clothes on the floor. Eddie’s erection was fully exposed now, quivering slightly as it curled up and away from the thick hair curling around the base. 

“Holy _fuck,”_ Richie breathed, brows drawn together in pure want. “You look so damn _good.”_

Eddie blushed then, cheeks flushing almost the same color as the tip of his hardened cock. Richie’s lips were against his thigh again, kissing and biting, harder than the small nip that he had given Eddie moments before. He heard Richie spit into one of his hands, and was about to object, when that hand wrapped around his length and began slowly stroking upwards. Eddie jolted as if he had been shocked, releasing a proper moan.

“I bet you taste so _fucking_ good,” Richie murmured, steadily drinking in the sight of Eddie slowly unraveling under his touch. 

Eddie arched his back slightly, craving, _needing_ more. His whole body tingled warmly under Richie’s smouldering gaze. Richie continued to stroke Eddie at an agonizingly slow pace, peppering his lower belly and hip bones with soft nips and bites. His own groin warmed with need at the sight of Eddie’s writhing body.

“Fffuuuck you even _smell_ so fucking good,” Richie whispered as he buried his nose within the dark curls growing at the base of Eddie’s weeping cock, and began suckling at the sensitive skin. The stimulation was almost too much for Eddie to bear, and he let out another loud groan. 

“Shiiiit, fu—Richie, stop fucking t-teasing me, you asswipe.” 

“But your whines are so cute, I can’t help myself.” Richie smiled, stroking Eddie’s cock against his cheek. 

The rough feeling of Richie’s stubble against the tender flesh made Eddie’s toes curl, and it took all of Eddie’s strength not to cum right then and there. Eddie’s response to his actions brought a cheeky grin to Richie’s face as he continued to gently rub his stubble against the smaller man. This went on for a few more moments before Richie decided to finally give him what he wanted, and brought the head of Eddie’s cock inside of his mouth.

Eddie’s eye’s rolled to the back of his head as he let out a drawn out moan, the warm slick feel of Richie’s mouth almost overwhelming.

“F-FUUCKKK!” Eddie’s hands flew to grip at Richie’s hair, his tight grasp sending shocks of pain mixed with the most delicious pleasure coursing through Richie’s entire body, finally landing on his now very uncomfortably hard crotch. “G-goddddd.”

He lifted his head off of Eddie with an audible pop, grinning up at Eddie’s red face.

“The name’s Richie, actually.” 

Eddie responded by bonking the crown of Richie’s head with his fist.

“Sh-shut up you idiot, you know what I meant,” Eddie’s muttered, his body still shivering from the stimulation of Richie’s hand continuously stroking. “Now, are you gonna put that trashmouth to good use or do I have to finish myself?”

“Hasty, hasty,” Richie teased, before diving down once more, and taking as much as he could into his mouth, hallowing his cheeks as he sucked _hard_. The sudden pressure caused Eddie to cry out, and then he was wrapping his legs around Richie, digging his heels into his back, bucking his hips in a desperate attempt to bring Richie closer, to bring himself closer. Richie’s eyes watered slightly as Eddie’s stiff cock poked the back of his throat. He gagged a bit around it, letting out groans that further sent vibrations of pure pleasure through Eddie.

“R-Rich, I’m soooo c—close, I don’t think—haaa—I don’t think I can take much moreee.”

Richie continued to bob his head up and down the shaft, his other hand reaching down to massage his own straining cock through his underwear, wanting some sort of relief and wanting it soon. 

“R-Rich, Rich, Rich, OH GOD RICHIEEE!”

Without warning, Eddie pushed Richie’s head further down, as his painfully hard cock suddenly shot out ribbons of white down Richie’s throat. The man swallowed as much as he could before pulling his head up, catching more that dripped from his lips with his tongue. Eddie would have been absolutely enamored with that sight—Richie licking his cum off of his lips—had he not been positively dazed by the force of his orgasm. 

Richie gazed at the absolutely spent man before him, and stared in awe at just how beautiful he was with just the moonlight shining through the window to illuminate them. The sheen of sweat on the smaller man almost glistened. He could take in this sight for hours and still be awestruck.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me forever?”

“I honestly could, you know. I could watch you just like this for the rest of my life.” Richie’s tender stare brought a pleasantly warm feeling deep within Eddie. He had never been gazed upon with such adoration, such tenderness before. Never had he felt such warmth and—dare he say it—love, from just a glance.

“Don’t—Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t stay here forever,” Eddie grumbled bashfully, not fully able to look directly into Richie’s eyes without melting into a pile of soft mush. Richie hummed in response, bringing his hand to Eddie’s face, and turning Eddie’s head towards him. He leaned down, bringing his lips to meet Eddie’s trembling ones in a searing kiss. Eddie deepened it, a soft hum of pleasure coming from him. He didn’t even mind the bitter taste of his own cum that still lingered on Richie’s tongue. 

Bringing his arms around Richie’s neck, he pulled him down further, bringing the full weight of his body on top of him. His hips bucked as he grinded himself against Richie’s obvious erection. Richie let out a hiss as Eddie’s warm flesh made contact with his clothed dick.

“Shit, Eds, you got the stamina of a horse.”

Eddie chuckled a bit, bucking his hips harder, hooking his legs onto Richie only to grind even harder. Richie clenched his teeth, letting out a strained moan.

“Guess you’re gonna have to keep up, huh Rich?” Eddie smirked.

Richie looked down at Eddie, a burning and intense look in his eye.

“Just as long as you know, what you’re getting into.”

Sitting up slightly, Eddie brought his lips to Richie’s ear, grazing the skin just so.

“Try me.” Eddie whispered hotly into his ear.

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me,” Richie whined as Eddie reached down to fondle him through his underwear. 

The shorter man revelled in the stony thickness of Richie’s cock in his hand, knowing then and there that he needed to taste it. 

“Hey Rich?” 

“What’s up, Spaghetti?” 

“Well, I was going to ask you to put your cock in my mouth, but nevermind _—”_

“Nononono, I take it back!” Richie cut him off with a shit-eating grin. “Please, Eds, come on.”

Hearing Richie plead like that did something absolutely delicious to Eddie, the sound going straight to his still sensitive cock. As much as he was more than willing to suck Richie off right then, he couldn’t resist the urge to toy with him, to make him really work for it. His grip on the taller man’s erection tightened, and Richie’s entire body stiffened. 

“Oh, really?” he purred, and the way that Richie was looking down at him was making him nearly drunk with the power he now realized he held. “What would you do for it? For me to suck your fucking cock?” 

His hand was slowly massaging now, Richie hips leaning into his touch. 

_“Anything,”_ Richie moaned, head rolling backward. 

Eddie pulled his hand up, spitting quickly into his palm before he thrust his hand into Richie’s underwear. He slathered that wetness over his almost impossibly hard cock, grinning at the whimpers that followed. 

“Then beg for it,” he demanded. 

Richie looked straight at Eddie then, eyes so full of wanton desire that it almost made Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Please.” The word was out Richie’s mouth in an instant, beginning to pant as Eddie’s hand moved up and down his length. “Oh, _please_ , Eddie. Please suck my fucking cock. I-I’ll do fucking _anything. Pleeeease, Eddie, oh please suck my cock._ ”

Eddie couldn’t stop the self-satisfied laugh that left his mouth as he pulled his hand away, drawing another whimper from the taller man. 

“Lay down,” he instructed. 

Richie didn’t need to be told twice, immediately flopping over with an excited grin plastered across his face. Eddie leaned over him, hooking his fingers into Richie’s waistband with a smirk. He slid his underwear down, freeing Richie’s erection. The taller man reached over to quickly help remove the boxers completely, and Eddie’s eyes raced over his finally nude form. 

“Fuck,” he couldn’t help but say as he took in the sight before him. The comedian was staring up at him, cheeks flushed and hair tousled, and Eddie was sure there was no one on the planet more beautiful than Richard Wentworth Tozier. “It should be illegal for you to look this good.” 

Richie opened his mouth, surely to give a witty response, but the words were replaced by a deep moan as Eddie gripped his cock once more. The smaller man’s heart was racing as he stared at the erection in his hand, suddenly filled with an overwhelming nervousness. A small, shaky laugh suddenly bubbled from his mouth as he was hit with an abrupt thought. 

“What’s so funny down there?” Richie asked, voice slightly tinged with doubt. 

“Oh, nothing,” Eddie replied with a grin. “I was just thinking about how all those dick jokes you love to make. I always thought it was over-compensation, but I guess you weren’t kidding.” 

Richie let out a deep, full bark of laughter. 

“What can I say, Spaghetti Man, I don’t joke around about such serious topics such as dick size.” 

“Call me Spaghetti _one_ more time, asshole,” Eddie muttered, jerking his hand up and down Richie’s length. Richie’s body went stiff at the sudden stimulation, and the smaller man continued apprehensively, “So _—uh—_ I’ve never really, um, done this before _.”_

“You don’t have to if you don’t want _—”_

 _“_ I want this,” Eddie cut him off firmly. “I really want to suck you off.” 

_“Fuck,”_ Richie moaned. “That’s so hot. Well, uh, just start slow. Go at your own pace.” 

Eddie didn’t respond then, instead placing a soft, hesitant kiss to the tip of Richie’s cock. Richie’s breath hitched when he went in to place another series of pecks down the underside, stopping when he reached the base. Eddie’s tongue replaced his lips, dragging it slowly back up Richie’s length and drawing a low, needy whine from the taller man. 

_“Holy shit, Eds.”_

“Yeah? Is that good?” 

_“Fuck yeah,”_ Richie breathed, head rolling backwards. 

Using one hand to hold Richie’s twitching hips in place, Eddie finally wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock. The loud moan that left the taller man then went straight to Eddie’s groin, and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to feel himself already beginning to stiffen slightly. He brought his lips down further, enthralled with how much Richie’s dick was already filling his mouth _—_ and he was barely about halfway down. 

“ _Fuuuuck,”_ Richie groaned, one hand dropping down to rest on the crown of Eddie’s head. “You’re doing so fucking good, babe. Holy _fuck.”_

Eddie continued to push down, determined to take in as much of Richie’s member as possible. It wasn’t long before his lips met the fingers that were still wrapped around his cock. He pulled his hand away, moaning slightly around the cock that was throbbing in his mouth. That moan was like a shockwave to Richie, who was unable to control himself as his hips bucked upwards in response to the stimulation. His dick slid all the way in, hitting the back of Eddie’s throat and putting his lips flush with his crotch.

“ _Oh fuck,_ ” Richie gasped. “Eddie, I’m so sorry _—”_

Eddie didn’t respond, merely looking up at him with a quizzical look, mouth still stuffed with every inch of his cock. It was then that Richie realized he had not heard the tell-tale gagging noise that usually accompanied an accidental deep-throat. 

“Wait _—fuck, you’re so hot—_ are you okay?” 

Richie let out another whine as Eddie smoothly pulled his erection out of his mouth.

“Yeah? Are you? Did I do something wrong?” Eddie’s voice was filled with doubt that clenched at Richie’s heart. 

“No, no. The opposite,” he tried to reassure him. “I was just surprised you didn’t like, puke or something. Didn’t want to trigger the ol’ gag reflex.”

“I don’t have one.”

Richie’s smile dropped. “Y-you _—_ Wha?

“Well after so long of having to dry swallow tons of pills and shit, I guess I’ve lost my gag reflex.”

Richie audibly gulped, the very thought causing his mouth to dry in seconds, and his heart to beat rapidly in his ear _—Could Eddie_ BE _any more perfect?_

“I-Is everything ok? Is that bad?? Is that weird?? I could fake some noises if _—”_

 _“No_ , no, Y-you _— You don’t realize how fucking HOT that is, do you?”_

“I guess I never really thought about it, do you want me to keep going?” Eddie responded matter-of-factly.

“Shit, pleeeasseee,” Richie pleaded, and the air was practically sucker punched out of him as Eddie took his cock fully into his mouth without warning. 

Richie didn’t even get a chance to suppress the deep needy moan that echoed throughout the room. His head swirled as he felt the head of his dick hit the back of Eddie’s throat multiple times as Eddie’s head bobbed up and down his length. 

Eddie’s grip on his hips loosened, focusing more on stroking through Richie’s dark and coarse hair, and massaging his balls at a slow and teasing pace. Richie’s hips bucked sharply the second he felt Eddie’s fingertips skate over the hypersensitive skin. He felt his dick hit Eddie’s throat hard, and immediately froze as he heard Eddie whimper.

“Shit _—_ Fuck shit, you ok??” He barely registered how insanely hard his current view was making him—a bit of his precum shining on Eddie’s swollen lips—instead focused on how worried he was that he may have hurt the smaller man. .

“God, Rich. I’m fine what’s your problem?” Eddie scoffed, annoyance clearly coloring his voice. 

“I-I just _—_ I thought I accidentally hurt you.”

“It’s okay, I’m good. I’ll tell you if you hurt me, ok?” Eddie’s eyes softened at Richie’s concerned expression. His heart fluttered at how hard the taller man was trying to make their first time a good one, and how conscious he was of Eddie at every instant of the experience. 

“Ok…” Richie didn’t seem convinced, but his shoulders slowly eased up, seeing Eddie’s warm eyes trained directly on him with such intense longing. If Eddie just continued to look at him with those eyes, he would do absolutely anything for him. 

“So, I wanna try something,” Eddie slowly stated. Richie noticed the bright flush on Eddie’s face growing deeper. “I saw it in a video a while ago, and you can say no if you want to…”

“Oh? Was Eddie Spaghetti watching some _adult entertainment?”_ Richie wagged his eyebrows up and down suggestively. 

“Beep beep Rich!” Eddie’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “I found your fucking porno, didn’t I?”

“Oh goddd don’t remind me…” Richie slumped back into the pillows, his arms covering his suddenly beet-red face.

“What are you embarrassed for? I thought it was pretty hot…” Eddie traced little light circles on Richie’s thigh, causing the muscles below to twitch slightly.

“I-I was just starting out in the business, it was back in college and I needed the money.”

“Did it feel good?”

“I mean, I guess? I don’t remember much about it, to be honest.”

Eddie reached up, bringing his face closer to Richie’s. 

“Does this feel good?” he whispered into his ear. His hand trailed down his abdomen, thumb swiping at the little bead of precum that welled at the tip. .

“Shhiiiitt, fuck yeah it does….”

“Then let’s try what I was trying to say earlier.”

“That being?”

Eddie nibbled on Richie’s earlobe, and slightly squeezed Richie’s length as his hips bucked. 

“I want you to fuck my face, Richie.” Eddie whispered before making his descent down again, planting soft, heated kisses in his wake.

“Holy sh-shit—Eds. Are you serious??”

“If you don’t want to _—”_

 _“No_ I want to! I just _—You sure?”_

“Rich, if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have brought it up. Now are you going to pound my mouth for all it’s worth? Or am I going to have to jack myself off while you watch and not touch me at all?” Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched in irritation, as he began to fill his mouth with Richie’s cock.

“I mean, that also sounds kinda hot _—”_

“For God’s sakes, Rich!” Eddie yelled out, his words barely recognizable with his cheeks bulging.

Richie’s hips snapped upward, and a loud groan ripped from his vocal chords as his cock was once again surrounded by the almost unbearable heat that was Eddie’s mouth. The smaller man below moaned in ecstasy as he felt the delicious burn of Richie’s hot dick slamming repeatedly down his throat. He kept his head still, as he let Richie do the work, thrusting in and out of that amazing warmth. 

“Sh— _SHIIITTT Eds! Your mouth!!!”_

Eddie only responded with a groan of his own, and he reached down to pump at his own dick who slowly began to harden once more at the beautiful sounds coming from the larger man above. Tears began to fill his eyes as Eddie’s senses went into overload: The sight of Richie practically drooling as he thrust into his mouth in abandon; the taste of precome slowly filling his mouth; the feel of his own cock as he pumped as hard and as quick as he could manage; the smell of sweat and musk that saturated the air; and the dirty, wanton sounds coming from the both of them, mixing into a beautiful symphony of sex.

“E-Eds, I’m not gonna last—FUUUCKK— _God, you feel so good!”_

Eddie knew that if he let Richie cum, this night would be over. They weren’t teenagers anymore, Richie didn’t have that stamina.

_Yet._

He held down Richie’s hips, stopping them from thrusting anymore, and he pulled up, licking his shiny lips from any fluids that might have escaped. Richie let out a whimper at the sudden lack of sweet warmth around his cock.

“Shit, fuck, Eds I was so close!” Richie pleaded. “ _Please_ let me cum, I’m fucking begging!”

“Not yet, we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet, you idiot.” 

Eddie smirked, hovering above Richie, still slowly pulling on his own cock. The mere sight struck Richie in a way that left him in awe. The moon shined behind Eddie, making an almost ethereal glow reflect from his pale skin. The very image deserved to be painted by the greatest artists—Richie would do it himself if he didn’t have trouble even just drawing stick figures.

“Shit, I wanna eat your ass so badddd,” Richie mused, not even aware the words were coming out of his mouth.

“Wah—huh???” Eddie did not expect Richie to just come out with that. “Don’t be fucking gross, Rich.”

“I’m serious! Lemme eat your ass, babe, it’ll feel so fucking good, you won’t even fucking know what hit ya,” Richie loopily grinned. 

“Richie, that’s disgusting,” Eddie insisted. “Do you know what comes out of there?” 

“I mean, how else am I supposed to get you ready for _—um—_ well _—”_

“For what?” 

“Well, _you know.”_ Richie gestured down towards his quivering erection. “Me.” 

“Oh, so you’re just assuming you’re going to be on top?” Eddie cocked an eyebrow. 

“Wait, did you want to? I’m down,” Richie agreed excitedly. “It’s been a while since I’ve bottomed but I’m sure I can take it.” 

_“Jesus Christ, Rich,”_ Eddie hissed, overwhelmed with the sudden decision he was being faced with. 

As much as he had fantasized about Richie, most of those scenarios had been vague enough in his head _—_ he had never actually considered what would happen if they found themselves in their current position. When he had been with Mrya there had been no question: he was always on top, half-heartedly thrusting for a few painful minutes before finishing as fast as he possibly could. He deliberated on what it would be like on the opposite end: Richie’s weight looming over him, the feeling of those powerful hips absolutely plowing into him with abandon. 

Eddie knew what he wanted. 

“So do you want me to bend over or _—”_

“I want you to fuck me,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Are _—_ are you sure?” Richie sounded beyond surprised. “I swear I can bottom if _—”_

 _“_ Richie Tozier if you don’t put your mouth to good work I’m just going to bed instead—”

“Nonononoooo!” 

Richie didn’t need to be told twice, positioning himself between Eddie’s bent legs after the man took his own place on the joined beds. Catching his right knee in one hand, Richie brought it towards his face and planted his lips there. His mouth ghosted across the inside of Eddie’s thigh, and the smaller man didn’t try to stop the light moans that accompanied each feather light kiss against the sensitive flesh. Both of Richie’s hands were high up on his thighs now, gently pushing to spread Eddie’s legs further apart. His heart raced somehow faster when Richie’s kisses became harder and wetter the closer they came to his groin. 

Richie’s hands slid lower, grip tightening when they reached his ass. His breath was hot against his skin, almost maddening as his lips hovered over the area right between his sack and his hole. Eddie squirmed as he felt the small current of warm air on an area of his body that felt almost foreign to him. His chest ached and his libido shot up into the clouds, almost taking the breath out of him.

“Goddamn it, Rich! Get on with it! In the time that it’s taken me to get some action, I could have ordered a fucking pizza!” Eddie hissed.

“Would you give me a break? I’m trying to savor this,” Richie chuckled, right before pushing his lips directly on the space his breath was tickling not a moment before. He pressed hard for a moment, before his mouth moved upwards to catch the skin of his sack between his lips and tug gently. 

“Nnnnghh!”

Eddie shoved a fist in his mouth, muffling a needy whine. His other hand flew down to take a good fistful of Richie’s curls, his grip fierce and sharp. He could practically hear his heart pounding as his face flushed a deep red, and his breath came out in small pants.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s no fun,” Richie laughed, peering at Eddie from between his legs. He reached up and pulled Eddie’s fist away. “I like hearing your little moans and shit.” 

Before Eddie could get out what would surely be a biting response, Richie dove right back in. His big hands cupped Eddie’s perfect ass, thumbs digging in to spread his cheeks apart and exposing his hole. And then his lips were pressing against that opening, tongue dipping out to lick broad, flat strokes. 

“Fuck, _I love the way you taste,”_ Richie murmured in a husky voice. 

“HhhAAaaahh!” Eddie cried in response, his mind practically short circuiting from the absolutely spectacular feel of Richie’s tongue swirling deeper and deeper. He wanted so deeply for more, _more, MORE!_

“Fuuuuck Rich! Fucking shhhhit!” Eddie panted, a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as his whole being was taken to a place completely new. “Rich, Pleeeaaasee! I—I need—I need moreeee!”

Just the sound of Eddie’s desperate whimpers was enough to make Richie’s cock stand straight at attention, and the taller man was more than willing to oblige his every plea. Face now buried deep in Eddie’s ass, Richie reached one hand up to cup Eddie’s chin, running one thumb against his lower lip. 

Eddie didn’t need to think at all before he took Richie’s thumb into his mouth, relishing in the slightly salty taste of Richie’s skin on his tongue. He swirled his tongue around the appendage, coating it in a slick layer of saliva. His molten eyes locked on Richie’s diluted ones, refusing to break eye contact as he sucked on the finger in his mouth, much like the treatment he gave to another part of Richie’s body. 

As he saw Richie’s eye’s glaze over, he took the opportunity to use his teeth and light graze the thumb in his mouth, before biting down lightly on the tip of the finger—not enough to cause damage, but enough to sting. Richie’s entire body shivered at the sensation, and he revelled in the way Eddie sucked after the digit even after he pulled it from his mouth. 

His now wet thumb replaced his tongue _—_ which was still ardently lavishing over Eddie’s opening _—_ rubbing deep, deliberate circles against Eddie’s still very tight hole. He continued to massage that area, reveling in the way the smaller man’s body jerked and twitched under his touch. He applied even further pressure, and his cock jumped when he felt the small ring of muscle contract around his digit. 

_“Fuck—_ you’re gonna be so tight,” Richie mused. “We’re gonna need to get you prepped. I got some lube in my suitcase, hold on.” 

Richie scrambled out of bed, practically running into the living area. He tore open his suitcase, rummaging through his clothes until he found the small, clear bottle he was searching for. A familiar golden foil packet caught his eye, and he grabbed that as well. He sauntered back into the room, brandishing the bottle of lube and condom with a mix of excitement and pride at his foresight. 

“I’m not gonna even ask why you just _happen_ to have a bottle of—” Eddie took a glance at the small clear bottle. “I-Is that—strawberry lube?? You brought strawberry lube and condoms?” 

Eddie’s right eyebrow arched up in question, looking up at Richie’s bright grin with an incredulous stare. He shook his head in exasperation at the antics of the man before him, but at the same time he couldn’t help but share in his enjoyment, a fond smile teased on his lips.

“Well I figured if I didn’t get lucky, I could always use it as a sundae topping,” Richie quipped, resuming his position between Eddie’s legs. 

He tossed the condom to the side of them, before opening the lube and dripping a generous amount on to his finger tips. His eyes caught the shorter man’s once more as he pressed his now slick index and pointer fingers against his hole, distributing some of the excess lube against him. He squeezed a large drop of lube directly onto Eddie’s entrance, and he felt the smaller man stiffen slightly under his touch. 

Eddie hissed at the intrusion, Richie’s fingers weren’t nearly as soft as his tongue. He didn’t have a clue as to how this would possibly feel, as the last time he had ever even teased the _idea_ of fingering himself was back in his college days—not that he had ever actually tried. 

Eddie couldn’t describe what it felt like, to be stretched like this, to be touched in a place no one else had been near. His body continued to squirm as Richie’s fingers continued to stretch him, sinking deeper and deeper. Suddenly Richie’s fingertip tapped something inside him that made his vision go white for a second, and his mouth widened in an audible hitch of his breath.

“SHIT! Fuck!” Eddie cried out. “Whatever the FUCK was, you better fucking do that again!”

“What, this?” 

Richie angled his fingers the way they had been just a moment before, pressing upwards. He immediately felt Eddie’s inner walls tighten around his digits, and felt a thrill run through him when he realized he could feel his asshole throbbing around him. He continued to fuck Eddie with his hand, fingers deftly stimulating that little spot that had the smaller man practically squirming underneath him. 

“You have no goddamn right being this fucking hot,” he breathed. 

“Ffffuck, keep talking Rich. God, give it to me harderrr.”

Small beads of sweat began to appear on Eddie’s forehead as heat began to envelop his whole body. He gritted his teeth at the teasingly slow pace that Richie’s fingers were fucking him, and it was driving him absolutely wild. His hips bucked, wanting to feel Richie’s digits rub deeper inside of him. 

“Ffffuck—more, give me moreee.”

“Damn, Eds, you just can’t get enough, huh?” 

Richie so desperately wanted to fuck Eddie right then and there, but the man was still _so tight_ , and he barely had two fingers in. His own neglected cock was becoming nearly unbearable in its hardness, and he couldn’t help but drop one hand down and give himself a few good strokes. 

“Think you could take another one?” he asked cautiously, fingers still hooked deep in Eddie’s ass. 

Eddie took a second to relish in the delicious—if painful—feeling of being stretched, his eyes closed as he so desperately focused on leveling his breathing.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” Eddie whimpered, feeling Richie brush over _that_ spot again and again. 

If this was how it felt with just fingers, the _real deal_ was something he couldn’t even fathom. He had a half a mind to just throw caution to the wind, shove Richie down on the bed, and ride him for all he was worth. He also knew that with this being his first time, that would not end well—he’d rather enjoy this experience than not be able to sit down properly tomorrow.

“Go ahead and add another one Rich, I’m ready.”

Richie nodded. His hand left his cock, reaching out to find the bottle of lube. Slathering even more on to his hand, he positioned his first three fingers at Eddie’s opening. 

“I’m gonna go slow, okay?” he said ardently. 

He pressed the fingers against Eddie’s hole, rubbing in a smooth circular pattern. It was a moment before he finally began to press them forward, scared more than anything of hurting or tearing Eddie before the fun really began. Nothing really happened at first, and Richie was worried that his hole was simply too tight to accept such a large intrusion _—_ but then his fingers were sinking in, and Richie couldn’t stop the moan that left his own mouth at the feeling of Eddie’s tightened walls around his digits. 

“Is this okay? How do you feel?” 

Eddie’s eyes widened, and his fist tightened its grip in Richie’s hair as he let out another hiss. He felt his whole body tense, and if it wasn’t for Richie’s gentle touch, this would have been unbearable. But with how careful Richie was being, and just the pure knowledge that it was _Richie Tozier_ who was so treating him like a damn king, Eddie had never felt so amazing. He couldn’t help but whine even more as his asshole stretched more than it ever had, Richie’s fingers slowly spreading slightly as they sunk deeper and deeper.

“I-I’m good—FUUUUCKKKK—j-just give me a second.” 

Richie waited as Eddie shifted beneath him, giving him a moment to get used to the stretch. It wasn’t until the smaller man locked eyes with him and gave a little nod, that Richie began to slowly move his fingers in and out in an almost agonizingly slow pace. He patiently continued this steady rhythm, listening in unadulterated bliss as Eddie’s breath turned into a full-on pant, relishing in the ever-tightening grip on his hair. It wasn’t until his fingers began to slide in and out a lot more evenly that Richie picked up the pace, angling up to try to find that spot once again. 

“Is that good? You like that?” he muttered under his breath, drinking in the sight of Eddie before him, legs splayed, ass full of his fingers. 

“That’s. So. Goooood.” 

Eddie’s eyes rolled up in the sheer euphoria of feeling Richie so deep inside. Feeling him slide in and out of such an intimate area, a place no one alive on earth had ever been before, was such a vulnerable experience. There was no way to hide anymore, his entire being has been presented to Richie, and Eddie couldn’t wait to give him more. 

“Fuck, k-keep going—SHITTTT!” 

Eddie’s entire body arched as Richie’s fingers curved, and practically pounded onto his prostate. His back curved up and off the bed, his hips bucking sharply onto Richie’s fingers. The taller man could only watch with rapt attention as Eddie’s back seemed to snap in half at his ministrations, his cock twitching and leaking from the stimulation. He was barely moving his hand anymore, letting Eddie do most of the work as he grinded down onto him. Richie was touching himself again, furiously palming at his own dick as he watched Eddie basically fuck himself on his fingers. 

_“Fuck, Eds, I want you so bad,”_ he panted, placing another sloppy kiss to the inside of Eddie’s thigh. 

He wanted nothing more than to pin Eddie against the bed and plow right into him, but was still afraid of hurting the man. He remembered his first anal experience, and his partner at the time had not been so gentle _—_ it hadn’t been the most pleasurable of experiences for Richie, and he wanted to avoid delivering a similar performance at all costs. He knew how imperative it was to prep and stretch Eddie enough, otherwise the smaller man would be in for a world of pain.

Eddie’s eye’s opened, seeing the sight of Richie lavishing his inner thighs with kisses, practically caused him to melt under his touch. His hand let go of Richie’s hair, and slowly stroked down his cheek, landing under his chin. He brought his face up to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with nothing but need, desire, and adoration for the man.

“ _Then have me,”_ Eddie breathed out, before his hips pushed once more against Richie’s hand, grinding down desperately to feel more of that friction. His head leaned back as the sensation of having Richie’s eyes on him and him alone. He was ready, he just needed Richie inside him, and he needed him now.

 _“Goddamn,”_ Richie moaned as Eddie clenched around his fingers. 

He slowly withdrew his hand, immediately reaching down to slather the lube that remained on his quivering cock. His eyes caught the golden foil packet, and he quickly grabbed it to rip it open. After sliding the condom down over his length, he reached out for the bottle, practically drenching his dick with it. Staggering to his knees, Richie aligned his head with Eddie’s opening, slowly rubbing his tip across it. His entire body lit up at the contact of his wet hole against his sensitive flesh, and his pulse pounded in his ears. He could feel Eddie’s eyes trained on him, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, the length of his dick grazing over his entrance. 

“What the hell did I do to get so lucky?” 

Eddie’s heart leaped, tears threatening to well up in his eyes, and feeling his throat tighten up.

“Shut up, you absolute nerd. D-don’t be so cheesy,” Eddie murmured, averting his eyes, feeling absolutely flustered. Hearing Richie’s voice wash over him so tenderly, it was like the softest blanket in the world, and he never wanted to get out of it.

He shuddered as he felt Richie tease his entrance, the head of Richie’s cock applying a small amount of pressure. He slowly began to lose his patience as he tried bringing his hips down, only for Richie to withdraw slightly each time he did. He grumbled as he saw a ghost of Richie’s signature shit-eating grin dance across his face, eyes twinkling in mirth.

“Rich, if you keep fucking yanking my chain, I swear to god!”

“What can I say, you’re making this really _hard_ for me, Spaghetti,” Richie joked, waggling his eyebrows up and down. His grin only spread as the smaller man glared up at him impatiently, lips pressed into a hard line. “Alright, alright. Looks like you’re more than ready.”

Richie gripped his cock right below the tip, pressing his head right up against Eddie’s hole. Once again, it seemed as if the opening was just too tight to accept his member. He grabbed the lube again, strategically dripping some head and circling it against his entrance. After a few moments of struggling, his head finally slid forward, and just the sight of the tip of his cock disappearing into Eddie was enough to almost set him on the edge. 

_“Holy fuck, Eds, you’re so fucking tight.”_

“ _Fuck! Oh my god!”_ Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut, the pressure of Richie’s hard length slowly sinking further and further inside.

His arms wrapped around Richie, bringing their bodies together as he held on for dear life, his blunt nails digging into Richie’s back. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes at the intensity, every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire. There was pain—which Eddie had more than expected—a pain like nothing Eddie had ever known in his life. The stretch was nothing compared to his fingers, and he was almost sure that he was actually being split in half. As much as it hurt, Eddie almost welcomed the pain, basking in the pure sensation of Richie slowly filling him up. 

Eddie didn’t even think before his teeth sank down on Richie’s shoulder, loud groans and whimpers filling the room. Richie jolted at the sudden spike of pain that was a stark contrast to the feeling of Eddie’s warmth enveloping his length as it steadily pushed deeper inside of the smaller man. He was about halfway in when Eddie’s hips jerked upwards slightly, and Richie felt nails digging into the muscled flesh of his back. 

“Are you okay, does it hurt?” Richie asked in concern, brows drawn together. “We can stop if you want.” 

“No!” Eddie cried out, a little louder than he intended. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his hips, bringing Richie deeper inside him. “No, k-keep going. Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Eddie threw his head back into the sheets, relishing in the painful stretch of Richie’s entire being finally, fucking _finally,_ enveloping him entirely.

As he felt Richie’s pelvis finally make contact with his body—now fully inside—he knew this was what it was like to finally feel complete, to finally feel whole and pleasantly full. Now at this point, the only thing he wanted was to overflow. Richie was nearly overwhelmed at the feeling of his entire cock inside of Eddie, the combination of the tautness of his hole and Eddie’s nails still scratching into his back almost too much stimulation for him to bear. He adjusted his hips, almost immediately letting out a strangled sigh when he felt the shorter man’s walls tighten slightly. 

“I— _fuck, Eds_ —I’m gonna start slow, okay? Just tell me if I’m hurting you.” 

Richie began to draw his hips backwards, almost agonizingly slow. His lips found Eddie’s forehead, planting a soft kiss to the skin that was beaded with sweat. Eddie leaned into Richie’s soft lips, letting out a small sigh as he felt Richie slide out—feeling the beginnings of his head swirl with sensory overload. He let out a high pitched whine as he bit his lip as Richie slowly pushed in once more, this time sliding back in with not as much resistance. Eddie felt himself begin to relax more and more as Richie’s large, warm hands stroked up and down his sides. 

“Riiiich—fuckkk, you’re bigger than I thought.” Eddie winced as Richie’s cock stretched him out, moving in slow motioned in and out of him.

“That’s what she said,” Richie joked, grin growing even wider at the rueful look Eddie threw him. “C’mon, that was a set up if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“Actually I changed my mind, get off me, you actual child.” Eddie’s face deadpanned at the comment.

“Wait—really?” Richie’s hips ceased all movement, cock sunken in halfway. “Are you serious?” 

Hooking his legs behind Richie, he brought him back inside sharply, eliciting a loud gasp from the both of them.

“You’re a lot more gullible than I thought.” Eddie smirked. 

_“Holyfuckingshiteddddds,”_ Richie whined. “You’re really gonna be the death of me. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.” 

Richie’s hands traveled down Eddie’s torso, stopping at his hips and grabbing a firm hold as he drew himself up. He loved the way he towered over the smaller man, loved the way Eddie was looking up at him now, eyes full of lust and adoration and pure desire, lips parted slightly as sweat glistened on his brow. His cock slowly pushed deeper into his tight hole, until he was finally flush with his hips again. Richie revelled in that feeling, of his length being completely swallowed into Eddie’s entrance, the feeling of the smaller man’s heartbeat pulsing around his own sensitive dick. And then he was pulling out again, trying to find some sort of rhythm that would work for his partner. 

“Is that good? Does that feel okay?” Richie was unable to stop himself from fretting. 

“Y-yeah, feels so g-good!” Eddie’s breath came out in small pants as Richie started to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against each other almost deafening.

“F-faster! _Hnnng, Oh fuck, I need it harder!”_ Eddie cried out, practically losing his mind on how amazing he felt, but at the same time it just wasn’t enough. 

He brought Richie back down flush to him, and began to pepper kisses, bites, and suckles into Richie’s neck, anywhere his mouth could reach—he needed to plant his mark. His favorite was to tug on Richie’s earlobe with his teeth, which never failed to elicit a shiver from the larger man.

That overwhelming feeling returned to Richie at Eddie’s onslaught of affection. Just Eddie’s lips against his skin was enough to put him right on the cusp of orgasm, and if the man kept begging for Richie to fuck him like that, there was no way Richie would be able to last much longer. This was unlike anything the comedian had ever experienced in his life. He then realized he had only ever fucked or been fucked, but this with Eddie was something much more. They weren’t just fucking, this was beyond that; he couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes as he realized that they were in fact making love. He buried his face in Eddie’s shoulder, one hand reaching up to grip at his hair. 

_“Fuuuuck, Eds,”_ Richie panted. “I just wanna make you feel good, baby.” 

“You’re making me feel _so good, Rich. So fucking good!”_ Eddie panted in Richie’s ear, bucking his hips to meet Richie’s, bringing him deeper and deeper. 

His arms squeezed Richie, his muscles spasming slightly at how hard he was holding him. This was the feeling of euphoria he read about in books. This was it right here, there was no way he could feel any more loved and adored than he did now. All sort of insecurity and anxiety melted away as he saw Richie look as emotionally overwhelmed and disheveled as he himself felt.

“I-I’m getting close, I can feel it. C’mon b-babe, _gimme everything you got!”_

Richie didn’t answer, mouth too busy sucking and biting at Eddie’s neck as his hips picked up in speed. His moans were muffled into Eddie’s skin, plowing into the smaller man with much more force than he had started with. His hands trailed downward, one pinning his pelvis into the bed, the other reaching to grip Eddie’s leaking cock. The precum smeared up and down his shaft as Richie began to pump him in time with his rocking hips, feeling Eddie’s walls almost immediately clench around him in response to the stimulation. 

_“Holyfuckohmygod,”_ Richie choked out. “How can you still be _so fucking tight?”_

Eddie couldn’t even respond as the sensation of being absolutely railed along with the warm grip of Richie’s hand on his dripping cock sent his mind reeling. Gone were the thoughts of Derry, gone were the thoughts of the terrifying woman he left behind, gone was the deafening anxiety that never seemed to give him a moment of peace. All he could feel, all he could think of, all he could sense was Richie, Richie, Richie. Richie, who he threw a soda at—Richie, who almost killed him with a fucking cookie, and Richie who had been the only one in his entire life that made him feel so completely confused and confident at the same time. 

“ _R_ — _Richieee, Ho_ ly _shittt, fuck me harder_ — _oh god! I’m so c-close!”_ Eddie cried out, bucking his hips frantically, desperately chasing that beautiful release that he could almost taste.

“Come on, baby, cum for me,” Richie ardently whispered into Eddie’s ear, hand stroking his cock even faster. “I want it so bad, _please,_ cum all over me.” 

Richie was on the very edge, thighs shaking as he continued to pound into Eddie harder than ever. He was spaced out on sensation, the beautiful cacophony of their love-making almost driving him into sensory overload. He was drowning in his partner, lost in the sound of Eddie’s voice as he continued to beg for everything Richie could give him, enraptured in the taste of Eddie still on his tongue, high on the smell of Eddie’s musk, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hot, tight hole as his cock pumped in and out. 

“I-I’m not gonna last,” he spluttered, hips faltering as his impending orgasm loomed right around the corner. His hand somehow flew even faster up and down Eddie’s member. 

“M-me neither, I’m so _fucking close,”_ Eddie gasped, holding onto Richie’s body for dear life. “C-um inside, Rich, Fuuuuck, I need you to f-fill me up— _Hnnng RICHIEHOLYSHIT!”_

Eddie’s eyes rolled back as his orgasm tore through his entire being with such a ferocity, he was sure he would never feel anything again. His mind completely blank as his seed practically covered both men’s lower abdomen completely in white. His mouth hung completely open in a silent scream, the intensity too great, rendering him completely and utterly wrecked. Never in his life had he felt he might actually die from such an overwhelming explosion of pleasure.

Richie was only able to register the feeling of Eddie’s walls as they clamped down impossibly tight around his still thrusting cock, too preoccupied with his own climax as it hit him like a brick wall. He was vaguely aware of Eddie’s nails raking across his back, a deep, guttural groan ripping from his throat as his hips rutted forward a few final times, ass clenching as he pumped deep inside of the smaller man. He was hit with a sudden onslaught of emotion, tears flooding his eyes and he rode out his orgasm, breath catching in his throat. 

After a moment, Richie collapsed on top of Eddie, softening cock still inside of him. The tears were flowing freely down his cheeks. 

_“Holy_ — _holy fuck,”_ he managed to choke out after a moment of trying to steady his breathing. He wiped at the tears on his face. “Uh, that’s not normal.” 

Eddie looked up, a small hitch of breath in the form of a chuckle bubbled out as he gazed up at the teary eyed man. He brought a hand up and wiped the remaining tears away, not trusting his own words at first to convey what he felt in that moment. Taking a moment to take in how vulnerable Richie looked in that moment, Eddie brought him down to his level to plant another deep kiss on Richie’s lips, savoring the taste, becoming addicted. Who needed Xanax when Richie would do just nicely?

“Don’t worry, I know you gotta still be cool for your fans. I won’t tell that you cried during sex.” Eddie smirked.

“Crying? Who’s crying?” Richie stifled a small sob, a watery smile stretching across his face. “I don’t see anyone crying around here. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

It was Richie who kissed Eddie this time, a wet, sloppy affair that ended too soon in Richie’s opinion. He could have stayed in that moment forever, covered in sweat and cum and wrapped in Eddie’s toned arms. But his cock was almost fully soft now, and feeling very uncomfortable, still buried inside of the smaller man. He gingerly pulled out, holding on to the condom to make sure it stayed on. He pulled it off of his spent dick, tying it and throwing it to the floor. 

“Wow, Eds,” was all he could manage. 

“Wow is right.” Eddie breathed out, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

He remained flat on the bed, not knowing if he had any strength left to even lift his head. His eyes remained on the man above, who was currently looking for something to clean the two of them with. A tender, and misty eyed smile graced his lips, wondering how he had gotten himself into this situation, genuinely happy for the first time in who knows how long, and content for once, not wanting a single thing about the current moment to change. Well perhaps, one thing.

“Are you done over there? I’m getting cold as shit over here.” Eddie waved his arms around in Richie’s direction, feeling particularly cuddly right now and wanting nothing more than to bury his face in the chest of the walking human furnace, aka Richie.

Richie returned to the bed with a warm, damp washcloth. He crawled back over to Eddie, lovingly wiping up the semen off of his abdomen. He loved the way Eddie reacted to his touch, body stiffening and a soft sigh falling from his mouth. He once again noticed the various burns and bruises that marked Eddie’s skin, and had to swallow past a lump in his throat. Once the smaller man was all clean, Richie wiped himself off, and the towel joined the condom and their clothes on the ground. Eddie was wrapping his arms around Richie before he could even properly lay down, and the taller man’s face stretched into a sappy grin as he sank into the embrace. 

“That’s the best I’ve ever fucking had,” he muttered happily, burying his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, observing the fresh lovebites that he had left behind. 

“R-really? Was it?” Eddie peered up at Richie, his voice barely a whisper.

Eddie, for as much as he tried hiding it, was filled with worry that Richie could immediately tell how inexperienced he was, and his worst fear being that Richie would have more fun with someone who knew what they were doing. He was only able to give what he knew, and that wasn’t a whole lot.

Eddie banished those thoughts, knowing they were stupid and of course Richie wouldn’t leave him because of that.

“Well, I guess you weren’t too bad yourself, Trashmouth.” Eddie huffed.

Richie let out a shaky laugh. 

“Glad to be of service.” He gave a lazy salute, before his hand dropped back down to caress the curve of Eddie’s shoulder. As he held the smaller man in his arms, the reality of the situation really settled in. 

Eddie Kaspbrak was in his arms. 

Eddie _fucking_ Kaspbrak. 

He felt a little shame when his eyes welled up with tears once again, wondering if he’d always be this emotional, this choked up, over the man who he had finally gained intimate knowledge of. The man who he had been in love with since they were teenagers, the man who he had somehow forgotten, the man who he had somehow found. The man who had thrown him into this complete whirlwind, turning his entire world upside down in just a few weeks time. 

_“Fuck,”_ he muttered, more to himself. “I just can’t believe—after all these years—we _finally_ —”

“We’re finally here, together.” Eddie brought a hand up to gently caress Richie’s face, a teary eyed smile of his own mirroring Richie’s. “And it’s like we never left, like you’ve been with me this whole time.”

Eddie wasn’t a sappy man by any means, but this moment, right here, with Richie holding just as he was—he could die right now in his arms and be completely satisfied with his life, he would go, being the happiest man imaginable. Placing one more gentle kiss on Richie’s lips, the stubble on his chin and lower cheeks causing his insides to flip wildly. He vowed that no matter what, he would forever savor every moment, every touch, every glance, every terrible joke.

“Do we have to go tomorrow? We could spend the weekend here. We don’t have to leave this room.” Eddie whined.

As appealing as that sounded—to be able to spend the next few days alone with Eddie in pure, unadulterated bliss—Richie couldn’t help but recall Mike’s voice. He had never heard anyone sound so strained, so worried, so _fearful. We made a promise,_ that voice echoed in his head. His grip around Eddie tightened. 

“That sounds like absolute _paradise,”_ he breathed in response. “But what about the rest of the Losers? They’ll be waiting for us.” 

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna die if we don’t immediately go.” Eddie’s fingers gently played with the hairs on Richie’s chest in contemplation, forming a soft pout. “But I guess you’re right. Don’t wanna keep our friends waiting. God I can’t believe we’ll be seeing all the losers together after all these years.”

Eddie let out a yawn, stretching his legs before cuddling into Richie’s warm chest. He had never felt safer, never felt more satisfied. He wondered if it was possible to become more attached to the man holding him, and wondered how he could have ever forgotten him—the very idea seemed impossible now. It seemed as if his whole life without Richie had been one large blur, only to lead up to the point of them meeting again.

Richie hummed deeply in response, eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy as he revelled in the warmth that was Eddie curling into his chest. He never wanted this to end, but the threat of sleep loomed on the horizon. Richie buried his nose into Eddie’s crown, inhaling deeply, wanting nothing more than to bathe in the smell. 

“You smell so good,” he murmured, not quite aware he was thinking out loud. 

Eddie chuckled, the feel of Richie’s face buried in his messy hair sending shivers down his spine. 

“Well I’m glad one of us does, you’re over here smelling like the fucking human embodiment of an Arby’s lobby. When was the last time you took a shower?” Eddie teased, hoping Richie didn’t notice him inhale deeply, face buried right in his chest. He should be grossed out at the mixture of scents wafting through the air, but honestly, he couldn’t get enough.

“Show-er? What iz theez show-er you speak of?” Richie chuckled in a spot-on French accent. “We don’t ‘ave thoze where I come from.” 

He raised one arm up, taking a comically large sniff of his pit. 

“Ah, don’t you just love the smell of fresh onion?”

“Grossss, you’re fucking disgusting! Do you know how much bacteria you pits have to have to smell like a fucking Galaxy Fitness locker room?” Eddie laughed, playfully shoving Richie’s shit eating grin away as he pulled Eddie closer to his armpit.

“Eughhh, seriously Rich, go shower!” Eddie’s face scrunched tightly at the stench. “I’ll join you in a bit if you want.”

“Now _that_ is interesting,” Richie said, throwing Eddie a suggestive glance. “As much as I’d love to keep rolling around in these blankets, you’re making me an offer I can refuse.” 

And with that he scrambled out of bed, hightailing it to the restroom. He flipped the light on, squinting at the brightness that followed. After struggling for a moment to figure out the shower, he let it run until the room began to steam up a little bit before stepping in. He welcomed the warmth of the water on his skin, drenching his hair and splashing some across his face. He was reaching for the little bar of hotel soap when he heard the shower curtain rustle, followed by a low whistle. 

“Enjoying the view?” Richie smirked, swaying his ass back and forth mockingly. 

“Just move over, stupid,” Eddie snorted with a roll of his eyes, not daring to inflate Richie’s ego more than he needed to, and he didn't need to know just how much he drank in the view of his ass, and just how much he wanted to mark it up.

With that thought, he stepped under the hot shower, and closed the shower curtain, letting out a giggle as Richie wrapped his arms around him from behind and let the steam continue to shield them from the rest of the world.

* * *

Steve Covall considered himself an understanding manager. He let Richie get away with a lot. Too much, some would probably say. But generally, he tried his best to let most of his client’s bullshit slide. Now, however, he had finally had enough. He’d had _it._ Richie’s latest string of fuck-ups had nearly cost them on of their biggest gigs of the last few years, and he was going to put an end to it all. 

He had just left Richie’s condo; the man was dodging his calls and texts, and his home had been completely empty. Steve was left with no other option. He had to find Richie, had to set things straight and get him back on the right path. It was time to end things between him and his driver once and for all. Which is why he currently found himself pulling in up in front of Edward Kaspbrak’s home, locking the door to his shiny Jaguar XF and hurrying up the path to the front door. 

Spotting the vehicle he saw Eddie Kaspbrak drive everyday sitting in the driveway, he figured that if Richie wasn’t around, there was a good chance that the driver would know of his whereabouts. From the amount of texting and the nature of their conversations, there was no way Richie would disappear off the face of the earth without him knowing.

Pressing the doorbell, and hearing the ring echo inside, he wondered if anyone was even awake at this hour. The lights seemed to be off, save for one room on the second floor which flickered on at the sound of someone at the door. He wondered if that was Eddie’s wife, and he wondered if she knew of any of the bullshit her husband had been doing right under her nose. A creeping sense of guilt overcame him when he realized that he may end up being the bearer of bad news. . 

Steve was just about to ring the bell again, when the door suddenly ripped open. He jumped back, startled. A woman who he presumed to be Mrs. Kaspbrak filled the doorway, staring down at him with a severe look on her face, eyes glaring and nostrils flared. 

“Who are you?” she demanded harshly. 

“Uh, hello, my name is Steve,” he answered. “I apologize for stopping by unannounced, but I’m looking for my client, Richie Tozier. Your husband—”

“Richie Tozier?” the woman spat through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, Richie Tozier,” Steve continued impatiently. “Now I’m not sure if you’re quite aware of what—” 

Before Steve could continue any further, Myra’s face turned a violent red, and she reached out, clutching the front of Steve’s shirt, bringing him unbearably close to her face. Steve was driven speechless out of fear, for this woman practically had him in the air, strength of which he had never seen in a stoutly woman like Myra. the look in her eye terrified him to his core, it was almost—dare he say—inhuman, bordering demonic. 

“WHERE. IS. HE ?” Myra roared, practically closing Steve’s airway from how tightly she held his collar in her grip. “WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?” 

“I-I-I Don’t know! I thought h-he was here!” Steve cried out weakly, trying to pry Myra’s fingers from him, to no avail. Who was this woman? _What_ was this woman??

“I swear! I don’t know! I figured your husband—”

“MY HUSBAND WOULD STILL BE HERE, LETTING ME TEND TO HIS ILLNESS HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR THAT WRETCHED MAN!”

Before Steve could sputter a response, Myra yanked him forward, tossing him inside of the house like he was some sort of rag doll. He let out a yelp as he landed on the ground, _hard_ —pain shooting through his shoulder. Panic and fear really began to set in when he heard the door slam shut, and he began to scoot backwards as Myra descended upon him. 

“HE TAINTED MY EDDIE-BEAR!!!!!” 

Her eyes flashed wildly as she reached for him again, and Steve was still in a state of shock as she grabbed a good fistful of his hair and jerked him up. He barely registered his own scream as Myra’s other arm closed around his wrist, yanking it high up behind his back. 

“WHERE IS HE?!!”

“I THOUGHT HE WAS HERE!” Steve cried out, fat tears pouring from his eyes from the pain. It then occurred to him that there was absolutely nothing stopping this woman from cold blood, and the tears ran even harder. “PLEASE LET ME GO! I’LL DO ANYTHING! Y-You want money?? I’ll give you everything in my fucking wallet, just please don’t kill me!!” 

Myra was not convinced by this shrill little man. He had to know where they went, he had to know where this VILE man took her Eddie-bear, he HaD tO kNoW!

With an upward jerk of her arm, a sickening crack echoed out, and Steve’s eyes widened as a blood curdling scream ripped from his throat at the white hot pain that spread through his entire being. He almost couldn’t hear the sounds of his own screams above the loud roar of blood pulsing in his ears.

“I’ll find the man who kidnapped my Eddie-bear, and when I’m done with him, not even the Lord almighty will be able to identify him,” She spat through gritted teeth. 

She released her grip on Steve, who immediately crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap. Walking briskly across the room to grab the bags that were waiting for her, Myra didn’t bother closing the door behind her as she left Steve alone. He laid there for a few long moments, tears flowing down his face as the pain continued to throb up his arm. He needed to get out of there. He needed a hospital.

And he needed to warn Richie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this one guys. Life took a turn and my life turned into this fanfic, quite literally. Not in a good way. Lets just say I was in Myra's position and it was not fun. But I'm moving forward and ready to get on with this fic!!! -Lyn
> 
> As the saying goes, good smut comes to those who wait lol. Get ready to HURTTTTT next chapter. -Bats

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all are ready for this fic. the repressed gay chaos is just beginning. also the tags will be updated as chapters are posted to avoid spoilers for the future, however i will update any triggering tags before the chapter is posted so keep an eye out <3-lyns


End file.
